


Plasticity

by Nopholom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a harsh reality check and a drinking binge, Dean orders himself a Synthetic woman to fool around with, regretting it the next morning. What's worse, when it shows up, it's definitely not what he'd expected; male, scarily human, and someone seems to be looking for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this now because I was urged to by a friend who has had the unbeta'd copy for a couple of months, it's not done and I've not been working on it lately, but I'll upload the majority of what I've written in one lump just cause...

The Lawrence was one of many successful rigs sent into outer space with the desire to colonise within another galaxy; it, as well as numerous other Kansas named rigs had passed former-planet Pluto and was orbiting another star, connected to the surface of planet K-Z-Two-Five, where it was rooted deep and mining the planet’s core minerals. The Lawrence was, in essence, a “mining town”, inhabited by around four hundred people, many of which were constantly travelling to other colonies, or even home to Earth, their dying planet.

One person who had been on Lawrence his whole life was Dean Winchester, an engineer, one of the best; just about everyone knew him, either personally or in passing, he was a constant fixture, even after his father passed in an accident in the mines. His little brother had jumped ship after their dad passed away, leaving to do something more important than digging holes and wasting resources, the kid left for a Californian colony to advance technology even further, which Dean just didn’t understand, since technology was fine as it was.

He didn’t have much of a life after that, he worked hard, spent a lot of time at the bar nearest his neighbourhood, drinking alone or beginning the dance that lead to awesome sex on his part, and the occasional risk of the awkward explanation that yes, it was just a hook up. Which was exactly what he was doing one Saturday morning after a serious bender,

“Amy I’m sorry,” he said, “come on, you know me too well to think this was anything other than just a lay,” which was true, because just about everyone he’d met knew he wasn’t a commitment kind of guy,

“Oh my god, you’re a total jerk,” Amy hissed, pulling her coveralls over her underwear, Dean knew he’d made a mistake with this one, they _worked_ together,

“Why is that such a surprise to you? Have you ever actually talked to me before?” he asked, sat on the bed, sheets strewn about him haphazardly,

“I don’t know,” Amy sighed, zipping up and pressing a hand to her face, she’d shown up on Dean’s doorstep the night before and unzipped her coveralls, revealing nought but scanty lingerie to him. He’d asked her over before, but she’d been playing coy, left him chasing his tail a little before deciding that she’d give him a try, and that’s when he realised it,

“Holy crap,” he said, “you thought I’d be different with you,” he actually stood at this, pointing at her as she blushed and stammered and _oh God,_ he was _right_.

“Shut the hell up Winchester,” she snapped, “And I swear to God, if you tell _anyone_ this happened, I will kill you,” she warned, pushing her auburn hair into a ponytail as she threatened him,

“A gentleman never kisses and tells, and I don’t either, before you say anything,”

“Of course you don’t, you’d never get laid if women knew how many notches you have,” she grumbled, crouching to pull her boots on and lace them up. She stiffened when Dean knelt and held her loosely,

“No hard feelings, seriously, I’m just… I’m not looking for a relationship,” he murmured against her ear, “Sorry if I made you think otherwise,” because in truth, Dean tried to be a nice guy, he just wasn’t used to people sticking around, so he never asked them to.

“Get off me Dean,” Amy huffed, “Unlike you, I’ve got work today,” she was smiling a little now, but she was still annoyed, easing Dean away from her and standing up,

“Your own fault, I didn’t ask you to take the shift I gave up,” Dean shrugged, watching as Amy gathered her things and left him alone in his apartment.

He felt bad about it, he really did, he never meant to give her the wrong idea, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever said to anyone ‘you know what, I changed my mind, I am totally ready for commitment,’ at any point in his life, well… there was one instance… but not recently, so he didn’t feel bad about it for _long_ , pulling on some pants and flopping back into bed, he could still rescue his Saturday morning off.

He didn’t wake up until about midday, would have stayed in bed longer, but the monitor in his lounge was blaring obnoxiously, bursting through the thin walls of Dean’s dream and dragging him to the surface; he stumbled from the bedroom, eyes adjusting to the automatic light of the room he called his lounge, it was in actual fact more of an everything room, including kitchen and dining area, he was lucky his bathroom hadn’t been installed there for kicks.

“Yeah I’m comin’ hold your damned horses,” he groaned, “answer,” he said sternly, the ringing stopping and the large monitor built into his wall flickered before his younger brother appeared, frowning at the state Dean was in, now sprawled on the couch in his boxers,

“You look like hell,” Sam stated, a blonde woman wandering past him, which Dean noticed prior to the serious look on his brother’s face,

“Who’s that?” he asked lamely, pulling a thin blanket across the couch and dragged it over himself,

“A friend, you had a rough night Dean?” Sam asked, Dean grinning at him in response,

“Morning was rough, night was amazing,” he corrected, slouching even more, “What do you want so bad that you need to call me on a Saturday?” he yawned, wishing he’d stopped to make a coffee before he’d sat down,

“Just making sure you put that notice in this week, I don’t want to show up next month and hang out on my own at your apartment cause you didn’t give enough notice for holiday,” Sam sighed, the two continuing to talk about Sam’s upcoming visit for another half an hour, Sam ending the conversation when Dean began to go into lavish detail about his latest conquests. He lost the boyish attitude when Sam hung up on him, looking around his once pristine apartment, beginning to feel a whole lot like his life was pretty pointless.

It wasn’t a depression thing, because he had mandatory psych evaluations, and they were pretty sure he was fine, but as he looked around, he noticed little things, like how he only really owned enough crockery for one person, with an extra cup or two hidden here or there, beneath the leaky pipe in the bathroom that he really couldn’t be bothered to fix, always coming up with an excuse, even though he was the only one it was bothering.

He pushed off of the couch and set about making himself that coffee, trying not to dwell on the sheer loneliness his home embodied, a bachelor pad that was growing stifling with every passing day, which was probably why he tended to migrate towards his local bar mid-afternoon when he wasn’t working, and straight from work when he was.

 

It didn’t take long for him to grow restless, flipping through the channels on his monitor, staring blankly at an infomercial about a very basic robot that did household chores, “Seriously? As if I need that crap,” he grumbled, thumbing at the remote until an alert came up on the screen, requesting his reasoning behind the deletion of the commercial.

He was bored, deeply regretting taking the morning off from work. It wouldn’t have been an issue if he’d gone out the night before, he’d have found a girl who _didn’t_ have work in the morning and brought her home, they’d still be fooling around now. He smirked at the thought before it became all too depressing, deciding he’d need to be a little more proactive in his time wasting; he headed for his bedroom, sifting casually through his wardrobe before going for a plain grey tee and a pair of jeans, dressing himself and pulling his boots on, ignoring the way one of his pant legs snagged on the leather, hitching up slightly. He returned to his lounge, picking up a thin, translucent module and tucking it into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and heading for the door after he’d turned the monitor on the wall off.

He knew where he wanted to go, whistling some offbeat tune as he walked, pace pretty brisk. He figured he’d be okay to drop in, not having seen his friend in a month or so, so she would probably be happy for him to visit, at least he hoped so.

Dean lived in an apartment building, a sleek, well designed place that Earth’s architects would envy if they ever saw it. It was only eight storeys high and appeared to be made entirely of glass, mirroring its surroundings in distorted beauty, some of the expansive windows proudly displayed pristine apartments, not unlike Dean’s, however the personal touches consisted of more than a cluttered bookshelf and battered cardboard box he stuffed haphazardly under his glass coffee table, poorly hidden but well ignored. The windows on the ground floor were reflective by choice, the inhabitants deeming their privacy a necessity, much like Dean did.

He stepped out of his apartment building and into the street, slightly bowed legs carrying him down the pavement and towards the less industrial parts of the colony. It wasn’t how people had expected things to be, sure there was masses of new technology, there were robots who did housework or hard graft, TVs that acted as phones, calendars, computers, information booths, shopping carts.

Despite his career as an engineer, Dean couldn’t help but be fond of the retro or antique; he’d never seen one in person, but he loved cars, found out about them during his engineering degree and couldn’t get enough of them, besides, having one would make his travelling easier, plus if he got the right one, the girls would _love_ it.

 

The world around him shifted from tall, elegant buildings all glass and angles, sharp and representational of everything that was once great about the cities of Earth, to houses that looked tiny in comparison, varying in size and style, from townhouses to bungalows as he travelled further from his block. It always amazed him how different Lawrence could get if you just walked a couple of hundred yards, if he had gone in the opposite direction, the buildings would have gotten bigger, he would eventually have reached the master terminal, the hub of a system of trams that carried people around the city, as well as down into the mines and out of the city, where they could shuttle off-world if they wanted.

Although not many people called Lawrence their permanent residence, the station was incredibly large, even in the process of expanding its walls, though there were some rumours that its walls weren’t the only thing expanding.

He grinned as a small cul-de-sac came into view, casually greeting anyone he passed, not knowing half of them by name, but having seen them on many occasions prior; he looked cocky as he strode toward a single storey house, the front yard in slight disarray. He hopped along the stone slabs nestled in the unkempt grass, finding a small amount of amusement in something as simple as stepping stones.

He slipped into acting coy as he rapped his knuckles on the metal door of the quaint looking house, sweet and innocent outside but he knew it was lay homage to old occult things within, having been there enough, he stood and smiled when the door was opened by a dark haired woman, older than Dean but gorgeous as hell in his opinion. She had a pair of dark sunglasses on, standing there impatiently, looking right through him, a smirk soon graced her lips and she reached out, tangling her fingers in the front of Dean’s t-shirt,

“Don’t just stand there looking pretty, boy, you know I can’t see you or your fine ass,” she laughed, Dean inched closer to her, smiling the whole while.

“Pam you’re looking gorgeous as ever,” he greeted, Pamela’s hand smoothing across his chest, the other rounding to give his ass a good squeeze,

“Oh yeah, definitely Dean Winchester,” she purred, “you been working out?” she asked, moving to Dean’s side and guiding him further into the house, a hand firm on his backside.

Dean was definitely used to the way Pamela was, especially since she lost her sight, she was very hands on but he didn’t mind, meant he got to fool around without having to initiate it, aside from showing up at her front door anyway.

“Lucky it was me,” Dean said,

“Sugar, it’s always you,” Pam said, and Dean knew she’d have winked,

“You can’t be _that_ lonely… a pretty girl like y—ou?” he drew the word out in confusion as they entered the kitchen, frowning at the man currently at the sink washing some dishes, “I come at a bad time Pam?” he asked, trying not to let it show that he was disappointed he wouldn’t be getting laid this time round,

“Not really, but you’re not getting any, if that’s what you’re here for,” she said,

“Well either you’ve got the nicest burglar who decided he’d do the blind chick’s dishes, or you forgot to kick your latest fella to the curb,” Dean pointed out, the man not even looking to them as they both sat at the dining table, he went to stand, realising that he should probably get the coffee, but Pamela’s hand was on his and stopping him,

“Oh Sugar, he’s a _Synth_ ,” she said.

A Synth, or Synthetic, was a humanoid automaton that appeared almost completely human, there were tell-tale things about them, their eyes in particular, designed to reveal their nature, they were lit slightly and had visible circuit boards beneath transparent irises, though Dean had heard those were purely decorative. He didn’t like the idea of something pretending to be human, but they didn’t think, they didn’t learn, breathe, or exist in the way humans did, they served a purpose, they did everything asked of them and they never complained, it was just plain creepy. It was one of the only things Dean didn’t like about his brother, Sam designed the things, he worked on the technology and developed it, worked out the bugs and added new features, the fact that his brother worked hard to make these things _more_ lifelike just made his skin crawl, and tended to be a forbidden topic whenever the younger Winchester visited.

“Jack honey, could you get our guest a drink?” she asked, the synth looking to her and then to Dean, it’s eyes glowing faintly, a scowl set deep into its features, it gave a curt nod but stood still,

“Uh… Coffee…” Dean said,

“Beer,” Pamela corrected, “you feel a little tense,” she noted, rubbing Dean’s arm, feeling the way his hand was clutching at the arm of the chair, knuckles white, not liking the way the Synth looked at him. It nodded once more before heading for the fridge, grabbing two beers and bringing them over, twisting the caps off of them.

Dean accepted his beer with a forced smile, cringing when he felt the realistic skin of the Synth against his fingers, not quite ready to take a swig of it as the automaton leant over him to place a bottle in Pamela’s free hand.

“Jesus, these things ever hear of personal space?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair to keep the thing away from him,

“Didn’t seem like an issue when it was just me and him, you’re free to leave,”

“Well since I’m not gettin’ what I want here…” Dean muttered, taking a swig of his beer once the Synth was away from him, watching it suspiciously, he didn’t think he could trust something like that in his home, especially if he couldn’t see it, he didn’t understand how Pamela coped.

“I’m blind, not deaf, Dean, your luck ran out, I’m off the market,” Pamela said with a wry smile, Dean frowning at her, she took his silence as a sign to continue, “you know how some people have guide dogs?” she asked, Dean hadn’t actually seen a guide dog before, he’d not really seen a dog either if he was honest, “well I opted for Jack instead, he cooks, he cleans, he makes sure I don’t accidentally kill myself, I thought he could do pretty much anything. So colour me surprised when I found out what _else_ he could do,” Dean noticed the change in Pamela’s demeanour easily, he’d seen it a hundred times before, when she went from sitting casually to expecting gratification, and Dean was horrified when he saw the Synthetic reacting to it, staring at her with an odd look on its face.

“Oh god you’re boning it?” he cringed, shuddering, “oh that… Pam… not you…” he was being a bit theatrical, he knew, but it wasn’t any less truthful, the fact that Pam, the one woman he could go back to again and again without any risk of her asking him to stay, was passing him up for a god damned _doll_.

“He’s not a _doll_ Dean,” Dean looked to her, alarmed, it taking him a few seconds to realise that he had said that out loud, and that Pamela hadn’t developed mind reading abilities since they’d last met. “And sweetie I’m not ‘passing you up’, you’re just not reliable,” she shrugged, “Though I’ve gotta say, if you’re coming to me again it means you’re running low on options.”

“You’re cheapening this Pam, I thought we had a deep connection here,”

“About a deep as your dick is long, sugar,” she teased, moving her hand from his arm to his inner thigh, giving an affectionate squeeze and making Dean sit up a little straighter,

“Oh come on that’s not fair,” he huffed, moving his leg away from her hand, “you can’t say you don’t want this, then paw at it,” Dean stated, shifting a little uncomfortably, his stubbornness clearly outweighed by his desire to pass the time between the sheets, a spike of arousal snaking through him, “You are a cruel woman…” he swallowed thickly,

“You know, you could always learn from this _cruel woman_ …” Pamela suggested, beckoning her Synthetic over, the Synth pulled a chair near and sat down, Pamela switching her beer to her other hand, moving to hold the Synth’s thigh instead, he seemed to appreciate it more than Dean had. Dean looked to Jack, who was watching Pamela’s hand intently, that same stupid look on its face, Dean supposed Pamela was lucky she didn’t have to see him scowling at her all the time.

“He’s not my type,” he said straight faced, the Synthetic’s presence doing a good job at negating all effects Pamela’s touch had had, Pamela laughed at his words,

“Design your own then, you idiot,” Pamela then proceeded to explain the process she’d gone through, it was different to what Dean would go through of course, due to Pamela’s disability, she’d had to go off-colony to visit specialists, feeling out the design, seeing it with her fingers and requesting changes until she got something that felt aesthetically pleasing to her, and earned some compliments from the workers there. Dean would be able to use a customisation tool built into their network to adjust every detail of his synthetic, should he choose to acquire one.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that hooking up with something not-human was weird though, didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that sort of thing; he said as much, but Pamela shot his morals down by listing the names of twenty girls he’d slept with the last time they’d spoken, she only stopped at twenty because Dean begged her to. The idea of customising a woman specifically for him though, he found that interesting, but a little too elitist for his taste, besides, fifteen thousand dollars was a bit much for something he might get bored of, something that could inhibit his sex life as much as it could sustain it.

“I can’t do it,” he said, “not my thing…” he added,

“Your loss Sugar,” Pamela shrugged,

“Apparently…” Dean muttered, downing the last of his beer, “I’d best get off, your toy is giving you moon eyes, so I’d best get before it starts looking at _me_ that way,” he joked,

“Oh he wouldn’t unless I told him to, but if you ever want to try it,” she teased, Dean shuddering as he stood from his chair, helping Pamela up and hugging her,

“Not a chance in hell,” he muttered, “and god damn it Pam, you’re really passing me up for GERTY here?” he asked as he released her, earning a shake of the woman’s head,

“This is really bugging you, isn’t it?” she asked, Dean sputtering a little, cussing under his breath before mumbling a quiet ‘no’. “Oh honey, don’t be upset, there’s plenty more pussy out there,” she grinned, cupping his cheeks gently and stroking them. He loved how crass she was, he could honestly say that the only real difference between hanging out with her and hanging out with the fellas was he had a better chance of getting off afterwards. “Besides, you could always go abroad… or buy a Synth,”

“I’m not buying a Synth Pam! Jesus let it go,” he said, pulling away and heading from the kitchen,

“Oh but I’d love to find out if your ideal woman is anything like me!” Pamela teased, following after him, her Synthetic in tow,

“Pam, you wouldn’t be able to see it,” Dean stated, earning a sharp smack on the backside,

“Don’t be a dick Winchester, Jack’s stronger than he looks,” Dean turned, backing away from them slowly, a little apprehensive about the Synth, but wanting to say goodbye,

“I’m not worried,” he said with a shrug, reaching out and taking Pamela’s hand as she approached, “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before heading out the door,

“bye handsome, sorry I didn’t put out,” she called out the door, Dean blushing a little and smiling awkwardly at a man who walked past with bags of groceries, hating how easily embarrassed he was, especially when it looked like he hadn’t pulled. He needed a goddamned drink.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was upset, he realised, that he hadn’t managed to get his leg over. Pam’s blatant dismissal had bent his nose out of shape but he wasn’t the type to give up so easily, which was how he found himself propped up against the bar before six PM.

“Can you believe that?” he asked the barmaid, a small blonde giving him a deadpan stare, “she told me to go buy a freaking _doll_ ,” he griped, the girl still giving him that look,

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” she asked, her accent slightly southern,

“Course I do Jo…” Dean frowned,

“And you know we’ve been together, right?” it was Dean’s turn to return the stare,

“Yeah I know… you agree with her, don’t you?”

“Saves other poor saps getting hurt by you,” she said, making a flippant gesture as she turned to get Dean another drink,

“I didn’t hurt anyone!” Dean protested, “not on purpose anyways…” he muttered into his bottle, finishing it in time for Jo to swap the bottle for a full one, she had his card so he didn’t have to worry about paying just yet.

“Are you here to drown your sorrows or take someone home with you?” Jo asked, looking across the bar to make sure there were no other customers waiting,

“Depends, you up for it?” he asked, looking cheeky, trying to be charming but Jo knew him too well,

“You’d be better off with the doll,” Jo said, smiling sweetly at him, “besides, my mom says if I ever make that mistake again, she’ll kill us both,” she said, gesturing to her mother, the owner of the bar,

“Ah, I won’t risk it then…” Dean conceded, drumming his fingers on the neck of his bottle, looking around the bar to see if there were any prospects.

The bar was practically empty, but it probably didn’t help that his local was a rustic sort of place, not exactly where women usually hung out if they wanted a good time, especially before eight, he figured he’d probably move on if he wanted to go on the prowl, but right now he was fine drinking beer and chatting to the twenty-one year old barmaid and occasionally her mother.

Drinking was something he would somewhat shamefully admit he relied on too much when it came to dealing with things, if he was honest, but being honest about how often he went out drinking, how significantly the drain was on his wallet, was completely out of the question. Despite this, Dean wasn’t known for being a light weight, there weren’t many people he couldn’t drink under the table, he had yet to meet a man who could beat him, however there were a few women who’d come out on top.

 

He continued to drink, distracting Jo from her work with the same spiel, trying to persuade her that Pamela’s idea was insane, but either Jo truly thought Dean should stop wasting his libido on the human race, or she was having too much fun, he couldn’t really tell and it was driving him up the wall. It was getting to him though, the whole idea for it, since Jo was quite happy to list off a myriad of hypothetical pros, and Dean kept repeating the cons ‘not human’ and ‘creepy as fuck’, he was losing the argument, and what’s worse, the more he drank, the more he started to wonder what the harm would be. He shook the thought from his head, vision swimming just the slightest as the alcohol started to take effect, which was good, it meant he was breaking through the barriers, that he was on his way to forgetting the whole thing, but he had a long way to go and booze couldn’t do it alone.

He started to look around again, not quite willing to leave this particular bar yet, not having given up hope that the girls would come, especially as the hour neared respectable for pre-club drinks. He was watching the door subtly for half an hour when she walked in, a cute redhead he’d met a few times before; she was dressed to kill, he knew that much, her lace layered black dress reached just above her knees, the cut was low and a satiny black under bust corset added definition to her curves. Dean did his best to not think of how the dress would look on his floor, trying to collect his thoughts so he would be on his A-Game when he went over, so he settled for smiling to himself and toying with his bottom lip.

She was at the bar getting a drink when he made his move, finishing his beer and pushing from his stool, striding over calmly and leaning on the bar beside her,

“Hey Kelly,” he smiled, mentally high-fiving his memory when the girl looked impressed, the ten minutes he’d used trying to think of her name now paying off,  “Can I get that for you?” he asked, gesturing to the drink Jo was pouring for her.

“You can,” she said, tucking her card back into her clutch purse, “and though I’ve got to admit, you remembering my name has impressed me, the fact that you don’t remember who we met through doesn’t surprise me at all,” she sighed, voice seeming deadpan, though Dean knew from her explanation the last time they’d clashed that she was just impressively sarcastic. He was still smiling at her, though his eyebrows lifted a fraction, not entirely sure what she meant, he was a quick thinker though, soon chalking up that it was Amy they had met through, the Amy he had slept with last night,

“Amy,” he said, “she introduced us at a work thing, right?”

“Yeah, ‘oh hey Dean, this is my best friend Kelly,’ that sound about right?” she eased her drink toward her and Dean turned his attention to Jo,

“I’m gonna need a Cognac,” he said quickly, “best friend huh, which means…”

“She told me about last night… _and_ this morning… so no, I will not be sleeping with you tonight,”

“Aw come on, we had so much fun last time,” he laughed softly, hesitant as he moved a little closer, pressing a hand to her back, just high enough to not be crossing a line, Kelly blushed and picked her glass of wine up, sipping at it to distract herself.

“Dean seriously, best friend,” Kelly insisted, Dean offering up his most charming smile for a few seconds, seeing Kelly’s struggle with her crumbling resolve and deciding he didn’t want to be _that guy_ , hand dropping and slipping into his pocket,

“Well alright then, but it’s your loss,” he said, but it was probably a lie, he was the one losing out, because this was a woman whose name he was a bit iffy about, but her sexual prowess stuck in his mind every time he couldn’t be bothered to go find a lay.

Kelly knew it wasn’t her loss either, judging by the sympathetic smile she sent his way as she collected her drink and headed for a booth; he couldn’t help but watch after her, warming his cognac in his hands and pining a little, wishing he could take her home again. The shame set in when she quickly stood up from her seat a few minutes later, not for his admiration of the laws of physics, but when he saw Amy strut in dressed to the nines, the two women hugging each other excitedly the second they could. Had he persisted with his additional layers of faux charm and convinced Kelly to drop everything for him, he would have inadvertently hurt Amy more.

He downed his drink before turning to face the bar, fiddling with the empty glass a moment before leaving it and rubbing at his face, he felt like a total jackass, which soon led to him ordering two more drinks, though not for himself.

“Didn’t think you were a wine type of girl, especially after that cognac I saw you down,” it was Ellen, Jo’s mother, who served him this time, pouring the two glasses of red, before swiping an opaque card in the module behind the bar before depositing it in a lockbox built into the wall.

“Actually I’m gonna need my card back,” he said, Ellen gave him a quizzical look,

“Moving onto another bar?” she asked, Dean shaking his head,

“I’m calling it quits,” he answered, “Gonna buy me something to take home and continue my pity party there,” he laughed, Ellen retrieving the card and handing it over, Dean casually inspecting its surface, which held his name, a barcode, and a black strip, before fishing his wallet out and slipping it away. “G’night Ellen, it’s been pleasant as always,” he said with a smile, his charm didn’t work the same way on Ellen as it did with everyone else, she tolerated him like that one kid who just won’t leave home, and he loved her for it.

He grabbed the two glasses and headed over to where the girls were sat talking, placing the glasses down and smiling at them in turn as they looked at him,

“Wow…” Amy said slowly, “you’re unbelievable,”

“Thanks,” Dean beamed, despite knowing it probably wasn’t a compliment, his thoughts echoed by the apologetic look Kelly gave him when Amy stood up.

“You get shot down by my best friend,” he faltered then, not realising Kelly would have told Amy so soon, “after treating me like crap,” that, he wanted to interject, was not strictly speaking, the truth. Dean didn’t treat people like crap, he was up front about his motives and people sometimes decided that despite his track record and his blunt honesty, he would not do the same thing he’d done a hundred times before. “And now you think you can try to get on _both_ of us? You have got to be kidding me,” Dean was getting sass, his co-worker was getting up in his face, clearly more affronted by Dean’s lack of change-of-heart than he’d even anticipated, and the fact that she thought Dean was going for a three-way meant two things in his mind, one, Amy had considered it herself, and two, he was apparently perceived as _that guy_ sooner than he thought he would be. “You’re pathetic, you really are, you act all aloof and carefree but deep down you’re so unbearably fucking lonely you need to fill that gaping hole in your life with a seemingly endless string of women, well you’ve run out of string Dean, so get lost,”

“Hey, you need to calm the fuck down,” he tried, realising this was a mistake when Amy reached back for one of the glasses he’d brought over, “I only—“ he was cut off by wine hitting his face, he huffed out a breath in irritation before continuing, “I only came over to apologise, but hell it’s real nice to know what you think of me, I mean sure, I’ve slept with a lot of women, but that doesn’t make me a douche,” he said wearily, using the lower half of his t-shirt to dry his face, “But I guess I must be, since I so cruelly told you, from the very off, that I wanted to hook up with you, that I didn’t have a girlfriend because I didn’t _want_ one. Hell, I should have expected from the start that you would misunderstand and think things would be different with you,” he hated himself with every word, as his voice rose slightly and Amy stood back and listened, silent fury building up inside her. “Because you’re so fucking special, aren’t you?” he was making it worse, “If there’s anyone on this godforsaken planet who could settle _me_ down it’d be you, because you know me _so_ well, you know when I say ‘I’m not looking for commitment,’ I really mean I want a girlfriend I’m just too fucking shy to ask you out,” he could see her fists shaking and her jaw clenching, his brain telling him to shut up and walk away, but his mouth had other ideas, “No, it means _I want to fuck you_ , I _just_ want to fuck you, there is nothing I want from you beside a hole to stick my dick in,”

He genuinely wasn’t surprised he got hit, but he wasn’t expecting such a mean right hook.

 

He was escorted from the bar shortly after by Ellen, who was less than pleased with Dean’s behaviour,

“I have _never_ seen you speak to anyone like that before,” she said scathingly, Dean leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets as he looked anywhere but at Ellen, knowing that just because Ellen hadn’t seen it, it didn’t mean it had never happened before, “let alone a woman, Dean what the hell were you thinking?” she asked, Dean continuing to look like a berated teen and keep his gaze averted. “Dean?” she tried again, moving into his line of sight, hands propped on her hips as she gave him a very matriarchal look,

“I don’t know…” he mumbled, “sick of bein’ treated like the bad guy when I’ve done nothin’ wrong,” he shrugged,

“So you decided you’d earn the title instead?” she asked, Dean offering another pathetic shrug in response, he didn’t know _what_ he was trying to prove, he was just sick of being accused of being the dick when it was other people thinking they could change him.

“Sick of it…” he muttered, looking up at Ellen at last, meeting her gaze with his own, shoulders sagging at the pity he saw there,

“Jesus Christ Dean, go home, get some sleep and make sure you have a _damned_ good apology for that girl the next time you see her,” she eased him away from the wall and pushed him gently, setting him on his way down the street, scrutinizing his steps to see if he’d be fine getting home on his own.

His steps were clumsy and sluggish, the sock to his jaw fogging up his head more than the alcohol had, he rubbed at it, grimacing and trying to remain focussed on getting himself home. Getting home in his state wasn’t much of a challenge usually, but the ache in his jaw and his confusion at his own behaviour were putting things like coordination on the back burner. Like Ellen, he couldn’t believe he’d spoken to Amy that way, tried to reason as to why he had behaved like that, though he was slowly uncovering an ugly, bitter truth about himself as he rounded the corner and saw the rise of his apartment building, seeing vague shadows of multiple figures in the glass, hammering it all home.

He was in a state when he reached his door, fingers trembling as he swiped them on the panel outside his door, bringing up a keypad for him to type in; it flashed red a few times as he fumbled the code, free hand rubbing at his eyes, trying to dissuade the sudden influx of emotion he was feeling. He didn’t get like this when he drank, he just _didn’t_ , he wasn’t an emotional person, and he wasn’t one to dwell on how alone he’d felt since she’d left him. He wasn’t one to dwell because he never gave himself the chance, but the cause of his aching jaw and the forgotten beer run gave him nothing but time. He didn’t have alcohol _or_ women to bury his pain with; he had an empty apartment, his loneliness, and a bruised ego.


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn’t sleep, Amy’s words repeated through his head, he had long since gotten over the fact that he had behaved like a tool, he figured the punch he’d received and the table he’d tripped over were karma enough, topped off with a less than eloquent reality check. She’d hit too close to home, he already knew he was lonely; he had to deal with his own mind insisting it were the truth, but for someone else to say it? He couldn’t stand it, it was unbearable.

She’d had a point, a stupidly valid point, he was filling a gap left by… well, left by a woman he wished he’d never met, a woman who made him unbearably angry, made him feel so unbelievably pathetic and worthless that the best he could do now was one night lays.

It really was pointless, he figured; there were only so many times he could sleep with a different woman every night, he was running out of options and the gaping hole he felt in his life just seemed to be getting bigger, swallowing him whole without a thought, consuming and plaguing him. He didn’t want to be alone, God only knew how true that was, how desperate he was for someone to come home to, but he couldn’t commit, not after last time, it was all too much to bear then, to go through a repeat? That was out of the question. He couldn’t commit again, but no other options seemed viable, and the last person he’d made that kind of move on had called him cute, said he was just enamoured by her sheer lack of attachment, and told him to keep his head down. He’d complied of course, he was never one to deny a beautiful woman oral, but as distracting as that memory of Pamela was, it didn’t do the trick, he closed his eyes, and instead of himself, he saw Pamela’s Synthetic in his place.

“No.” he said flatly, responding to the tiny voice in his head that decided to have a brilliant idea, he wouldn’t, that was weird, not to mention unnatural, _‘you’re in space’_. He let out a frustrated noise and rolled onto his side, tucking his hand beneath the pillow and folding it over his head, wishing a physical object could block the voice in his head. He had to admit though, he wouldn’t have all the drama of a real woman if he had one built, “No,” he repeated, it was insane, he had spent half the day proclaiming how fucking _weird_ it was, he wasn’t about to become a total hypocrite, even if it did mean he’d have a near permanent source for sex, some company, and little to no commitment to the thing. Another disgruntled noise left him and he rolled onto his other side, scrunching his eyes closed and trying to think of anything _but_ a Synthetic specifically designed by him to fulfil his every need.

He continued to refuse the inane idea, trying to force himself to sleep but to no avail, deciding another drink was in order, the lone beer in his refrigerator soon reminding him exactly why he had intended to stop and buy some more on his way back from the bar.

He nursed his lone beer on the couch, blanket half over him as he flipped lazily through channels, trying to distract himself from the ridiculous idea racing through his head, but he couldn’t escape it, kept wondering just how customisable this potential woman could be, how perfect he could make her, how he wouldn’t have to deal with any human woman issues like mood swings, or pregnancy scares, it kept sounding more and more appealing but he couldn’t bring himself to commit to the idea. Instead, he began to think he could just _design_ one, check out the customisability offered, and if anything, he could give himself some “fresh” material to keep his libido happy.

He was on the system before he knew it, fuzzy mind in awe at the infomercial tutorial that spoke to him, lulled him with beautiful women and appealing qualities not usually found in other natural folk. He propped his feet on the coffee table, his keyboard settled on his lap as he waited for the tutorial to end so he could begin designing his ideal woman, starting again from scratch when he realised how scarily like his ex the first was turning out.

It took him several hours of customising everything from the fine details of her face to the more obvious ones, making her slender but curvy where he liked it. She had a pretty face, he didn’t go over the top, her bright eyes and warm smile making her almost cute, he strayed away from anything too sexy, of course he wanted this hypothetical woman to be freaking hot, but he didn’t like the idea of making her like some model or those creepy old fashioned sex dolls that were obviously just there to be fucked. He didn’t really understand why he cared about outside perceptions, but he figured it was better to idealise her that way, maybe if he ever changed his mind.

He was getting quite proud of his green eyed, fiery redhead, had even started thinking of a name once her face was complete, adding some faint freckles and smiling to himself, pressing his tongue to his bottom lip with his teeth in concentration. He was leaning towards simple names, kept coming round to the name Anna, sitting back in awe when she was finished, zooming out and looking at the nude model on the screen, he felt like such a pervert turning her around for inspection, making sure not a single hair was out of place, it kind of terrified him, but at the same time, he was excited, eager to feel the lifelike skin promoted in the modifications, to trace his fingers over every inch of her.

“Totally creepy,” he muttered to the darkness, well aware that he was sat in the dark, on the couch, in his underwear and with a naked woman on his screen, he looked at her again, her expression warm and inviting, a promise of intimacy with no strings, of someone to come home to after work, of someone to fill that gaping hole in his life, even if just for a little while. “What the hell,” he muttered, “Carpe Diem,” he tapped a few keys, bringing up his banking information, not even glancing at the price as he typed his details in and went through the confirmation process.

He didn’t even shut everything down, his mind feeling that bit more at ease as his head lolled back on the couch and he let himself drift off.

He woke up mid-afternoon with a confirmation letter flashing on his screen, an invoice hanging from a slot in the wall, printed but uncollected. He didn’t really know what to think, or how to think, his skull throbbing in its entirety, protesting to his waking state,

“Fuck me…” he muttered, rubbing his head and squinting at the monitor on his wall, “what?” he asked, moving to stand, grimacing when his keyboard clattered noisily to the ground, he kicked it aside carefully and moved closer to the monitor, his mind still not processing the information there. He gave up on that and tore the sheet of paper from where it had printed, holding it close to his face and frowning at it, “thank you for your order… ta ta ta,” he made slightly clicking noises as he skimmed over the text, “how many zeros is that? One… two… three…” the sheet fell from his hand and he leant his head on the monitor in surrender, he could not believe he’d been that drunk, there was no way in hell he could have been drunk enough to overlook a price like that, and _nobody_ is that horny. He hit his head on the monitor a few times, stopping not when his headache grew tenfold, but when the monitor flickered ominously, “No, fuck you, I am not replacing your stupid ass, so behave,” he reprimanded it, pushing away from the monitor and grabbing his invoice, completely dumbstruck by his own stupidity.

He needed to call the company, cancel the order before his savings were shot to hell by a goddamned sex toy; he smoothed out the slightly crumpled invoice and scampered for his phone, thumbing the number in slowly to make sure it was right, his head was going to hate him when this was all over, but that was the least of his worries. He sat through five minutes of a droning machine and a whimsical tune before he was patched through to an operator,

“Hello this is Melanie of McLeod-Roman Enterprises, Synthetics help desk, how may I help you?” a dulcet voice introduced, Dean ignoring the urge to flirt in order to get this all straightened out,

“Hey, I placed an order last night,”

“Do you have your invoice?” Dean made an affirmative noise, “please recite the given serial number,” he rolled his eyes and looked for the number,

“uh… Sierra… Y… Yankee November… uh… Tango Hotel, Alpha six, zero four, zero nine, zero one, thirty-nine, forty, forty-two,” he read out, having some issue with the phonetic alphabet in his hung-over state, there was a slightly static sound as the woman typed at something, Dean grimacing and clutching his head, not really caring that he was crumpling the invoice again.

“Mr Winchester?” another noise, “Your order is currently in production, what can I do for you?” she asked,

“Nnn…” he groaned, “Is there any way I can cancel the order?” he asked, clutching his head as he listened to the dull thud of fingers running along a keyboard,

“Of course, however we cannot issue a refund unless there is something wrong with your product,” she explained, he didn’t mean to make the noise he did, a high pitched whine better suited to a small animal, and it made the operator concerned, “Sir? Is everything okay?” she asked,

“No… no nothing is okay… fuck…” he ground out, “No refund at all?”

“No I’m sorry sir, those are the terms and conditions you agreed to when placing your order,” she stated, he didn’t remember any terms and conditions, but then he didn’t remember _ordering_ the damned thing. He couldn’t believe it was already being made, couldn’t believe he was out of pocket because of a dumb mistake, he wanted to argue it, wanted to try and make this woman understand that he couldn’t afford this order, but at the same time he knew complaining would just make things more difficult for all involved.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?” he asked, voice pleading, “I didn’t mean to make the order, is there no way you can sell it as a pre-made or something?”

“I’m really sorry Sir, it’s your responsibility, we can’t refund without a valid reason,”

“And my going bankrupt isn’t that reason, huh?” Dean scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and do _something_ against the pain building up within his skull,

“I’m afraid your funds aren’t the company’s concern, I wish I could help,” she apologised, and Dean wanted to call her out, to give her every name he could think of, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. He’d been stupid enough to place the order, to convince himself this was the best idea ever, so he had to take responsibility for his actions.

“God damn it,” he cussed, hanging up on the woman and feeling a little bad about it, he could have shown a little more tact, at least thanked her for her help, despite it not being particularly helpful. He didn’t have a choice now, he had to wait for the damned thing to show up and made the best of it, and as much as the thought of fucking a Synth bothered him, he was going to get his goddamned money’s worth out of that thing or die trying. He didn’t have time to think about how he would manage financially after this, he had to get to work; after tacking the invoice to the wall and heading to get dressed, he made sure to take some pills for his hangover before leaving the apartment.

 

“Fifteen thousand dollars… I spent fifteen _thousand_ dollars…” he repeated for what must’ve been the hundredth time since he’d walked into work that Sunday afternoon,

“I get it, I get it, shut up already… wish you’d tell me what the hell you spent that kind of cash on though man,” his colleague grumbled, getting sick of hearing Dean mutter into the machine he was working on, this time a smaller sister bot of a large drilling tool, it was meant to source out blockages in the larger bot but was malfunctioning.

“What was I _thinking_?” he asked, he had no idea what the hell had gone through his mind when he had decided to order that stupid thing, and he was hoping to hell that it showed up broken because **_fifteen_** _**thousand dollars**_. He felt sick just _thinking_ about that amount of cash, how it was now a gaping hole in his bank account, so much for _him_ being the one to go visit Sam for once this year. He didn’t know how he’d be able to explain the interruption to their summer plans, aside from his being broke and the presence of a walking talking sex toy, he flushed at the thought of trying to talk to Sam about it, another thing making this whole situation worse. He had no doubt in his mind that, despite working in the technological side of the company Synths came from, Sam would not understand this at all, would judge him for it, hell he didn’t need Sam’s judging, he was managing it fine on his own.

“Son of a bitch!” he cussed, jerking his hand from within the bot and scowling at the slice across his palm, he should have been paying attention, instead of fretting about his monetary situation.

“You okay Winchester?” the other man in the workshop asked, Dean looking over at him and holding his hand up, blood welling in the gash on his hand, it was only about an inch long though, not particularly deep, just a bleeder that stung like a bitch. The other man rolled his eyes and stood up, “Come on, let’s get you fixed up,” he huffed, Dean standing and following him to the office, his colleague, a slightly sleazy man named Richie, knocked on the door and waited, it sliding open a few seconds later to reveal a shorter older man, scruffy and weary looking, a baseball cap a permanent fixture on his head. “Man down,” Richie joked, earning a scowl that cowed him considerably,

“Come on in, I’ll get the kit,” the man huffed,

“Thanks Bobby,” Dean smiled, Richie backing out and leaving the two of them,

“You’re an idjit, you know?” Bobby pointed out, hefting a first aid kit onto his desk and opening it, he pulled a single wipe and a tube of gel out and beckoned Dean over, clearing the blood from his hand before uncapping the gel and squeezing a fine line of it over the cut. Dean hissed as the gel foamed up, cauterising the small cut, it barely even visible when he looked at his hand again, and if they weren’t aware of Dean cutting himself, a person wouldn’t be able to point it out easily. “Ain’t like you to hurt yerself,” Bobby hummed, giving the ugly bruise on Dean’s jaw a scrutinising look. He was Dean’s boss, technically not his employer though, more of a manager, but also someone who had known his parents when they were alive.

Bobby had been there to give a guiding hand when Dean’s dad hadn’t stepped up to the plate, he had noticed Dean’s knack for technology and told him to pursue it, the one to tell Dean he was proud when he graduated, he did the same for Sam.

“I’ve got some stuff on my mind,” Dean muttered distantly,

“Got anythin’ to do with the thousands of dollars you won’t shut up about?” he asked, Dean ducking his head guiltily,

“I’m not looking for help Bobby,” he said, he needed to get that out there, he didn’t need Bobby’s help, the man had done too much for him as it was, he really couldn’t ask for help with this, especially since he brought the whole damned thing on himself.

“What did you do Dean?” Bobby asked, giving Dean a withered look, a look Dean had received from this man a hundred times, from the time he’d beat another kid up for picking on his brother, to the time the emergency services had been called to his old apartment because smoke had been billowing from the window, courtesy of the clothes he was burning in his bed.

“It’s nothing, I made a stupid decision, can’t really say much more than that…” he shrugged, earning a stare from Bobby that said he had an inkling as to what had happened, though Dean couldn’t imagine him guessing it, “Just forget it, I can handle things,” he said, conviction seriously lacking. He knew Bobby wanted to know what was going on, but there were too many things to explain, most of which were both humiliating and would only serve to make Bobby disappointed in him.

He pressed his thumb to the sealed cut on his hand, squeezing it slightly before turning to the door, “I should get back to work,” he said,

 

Dean had managed to remain partially oblivious of his surroundings as he drifted through work that week, mind constantly reeling to the money he’d spent on a Synthetic, especially after his visit to the bank on Monday. He had shaken with such rage that the woman advising him had offered him a box of tissues, misunderstanding his reaction to finding out he was ten thousand dollars in debt, as it had turned out he clearly could not afford the doll, but the company had taken his money regardless of how real it was.

He had ended up something of a wreck at work, half-assing his job so badly that Bobby stayed late to fix his errors, but said nothing of his behaviour, but everyone noticed he was in a world of his own, avoiding getting in his path after he’d almost knocked Richie over through not paying attention.

It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that he was even really aware of his antisocial state, he’d just about glanced someone as he walked by, doing his best to keep as much out of their space as possible,

“Watch it Winchester,” a female voice hissed at him, stopping him in his tracks, he turned and looked at her, Amy scowling back at him,

“Amy, hey…” he said a little absently, offering an apologetic smile and backtracking so he was closer to her, close enough for a normal conversation, if not a hushed one, “look, I wanted to apologise for the other night, I don’t know why I acted like that, guess my drunk mind felt a little justified, what with you…”

“Calling you out on your bullshit?” Amy asked, “Well someone had to, since you’re too emotionally retarded to do it yourself,” he didn’t understand where that was coming from, he was trying to apologise to her for the second time and she was doing exactly the same thing as she had then.

Dean had a little more tact and sobriety in his head this time, sort of, so instead of mouthing off like he wanted to, he stuck his two middle fingers up at her and reversed down the corridor, ducking through the door that led to his workshop when he got close enough. The fact that he was still gesticulating around the door frame made Richie give him a weird look, but the man said nothing, seeing the pissed off look on Dean’s face as he dropped into his seat and began fiddling with a tool, poking at the desk with it as he thought about Amy.

He didn’t feel ashamed or regretful though, he felt bitter, wondering why the hell he’d wanted to apologise to someone like that anyway; he didn’t really understand what was going on with her, he had told her from the off that all he wanted was sex, he had never indicated anything otherwise, so it made no sense for her to be so angry that he didn’t want more. The fact that she’d taken it upon herself to be the harbinger of Dean’s demons was completely out of line,

“I don’t understand women,” he sighed melodramatically, well aware that Richie would probably agree with his sentiments, if only because he was too sleazy to actually pick up women the way Dean did,

“I feel you man,” and there it was, proof that Dean wasn’t the only one who thought women were bat shit crazy,

“I don’t get it, seriously, you tell them you don’t want a fucking relationship, and they bitch at you like you pretended you did to get them into bed,” he griped, he was started to be thankful for his purchase, sure he was ten grand in debt, but at least he wouldn’t have to listen to some bitchy spiel about how empty his life was every time he wanted to have sex.  
“See what they don’t realise, is that ploy doesn’t actually work, believe me,” Richie laughed nervously, but Dean already knew Richie was that type,

“Fucking schizoid I swear,” he grumbled, dropping the tool in favour of doing actual work, feeling a little more self-assured now that he didn’t have years of some woman nagging in his ear about every little thing on the plate.

As he worked, he managed to rack up a list of reasons why his Synthetic would be better than a real woman, it mostly consisting of ‘she would not’s as opposed to actual qualities. He knew he was being a bit misogynistic about it, but his defence was that he’d feel the same even if he was attracted to men, his list would just be ‘why my Synthetic is better than a real man’, since he figured being in a relationship with a man couldn’t be _that_ different to being in one with a woman, everyone has pretty similar needs in his opinion, and men can get just as hurt as woman, he was a living testament to the idea that men weren’t the strong ones in relationships.

He was feeling pretty chipper as he clocked out, pulling his bag from his locker and slinging it over his shoulder, finding his phone and dialling a number, walking out with it pressed between his shoulder and ear.

“Mh?” a low voice answered, confusing Dean for a moment before he realised what it must’ve been,

“Jack buddy?” he asked, another noise, “Can you give the phone to Pam, it’s Dean,” he heard some incoherent grumbling before the phone exchanged hands,

“Dean hey, you’re uh… interrupting…” Pamela chuckled breathily down the phone,

“Ah sorry, just wanted to say I’d uh… I’ve taken your advice, fuck people, who needs ‘em, you’re doin’ pretty good without, am I right?” he grinned,

“Yes I am,” Pamela laughed, Dean cringing when he heard some seriously _wet_ sounding kissing, at least he hoped it was kissing, “proud of you baby, you won’t regret it,” she purred. Dean could tell the phone had been discarded, though he’d not been hung up on, a curious look on his face as he listened, fully accepting of his current creeper status. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at what he heard, blushing and hanging up quickly, figuring he should get his ass home before he embarrassed himself.

 

When Dean woke up the next morning, he was met by a helpful reminder on his phone to book a week off of work, Sam knew him far too well, always sending notes to him if something important was coming up, whether it was a mandatory holiday, mother’s day or even the things he already knew about, like Sam’s birthday or the Winter Solstice. He dismissed the reminder and rolled from his bed, standing up and stretching out, relishing in the feel of his joints cracking, he relaxed soon after, going about getting some clothes ready for work and laying them out on the bed. He headed into the bathroom, grabbing a fresh towel from the cupboard in there and hanging it on a small hook on the wall, turning the shower on and waiting for the water to heat up. He heard his doorbell ringing just as he was about to strip off, groaning and turning the shower off, turning and heading from the room, ready to rip into whoever was at his door at six in the morning.

With a touch of the pad, the front door slid open, revealing Dean’s lack of attire to the man stood in his hallway,

“Hello Mr Winchester!” He said, sounding far too chirpy for this time of morning,

“Uh… hi…” Dean answered, scowling at him,

“Got a delivery for you, if you could just sign here, we’ll bring it up for you,” he beamed, Dean still giving him that same look, wondering who ‘we’ was and what they were bringing up as he scrawled his signature on the module held out to him.

He found out ten minutes later when two men pushed a metallic crate from the elevator, it looked like some kind of refrigerating unit, which made Dean a little nervous as he realised what it held, especially when his neighbours poked their heads out of their doors to see what was going on. He ducked into his apartment and stood out of the way whilst it was wheeled in and lowered carefully onto its larger surface, lying in the middle of his lounge, obstructing the whole damned thing.

“Thanks guys,” he said as they left his apartment, neighbours ducking out of the way, having come closer in their curiosity; he headed for the door and leant out, looking at the three people around tiredly, “fuck off,” he said, disappearing into his apartment and letting the door hiss closed behind him.

At first he considered ignoring the crate until he got back from work, but his curiosity got the better of him, pulling him across the room, where he sat on the edge of his coffee table and attempted to figure out the panel on the side. It was lit up, his address flashing on it as well as a few buttons down the edge, he tapped each button in turn, reading the varying options until he figured out how to open it, sitting back suddenly as an audible hiss filled the room and cold air rushed from the gap forming along the side of the container, his skin coming up in bumps as the visible air washed over them.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing at his legs with his hands before he pushed the slightly gaping lid off of the crate, another bluster of icy air hitting him, the vapour dissipating to reveal the contents. Curled up in the middle of the crate, the chilled unit fitting its form perfectly, was his Synthetic, though it appeared different to how he’d expected; he’d seen the trailers though, the Synthetic could alter things like hair length and colour, so the short dark brown hair didn’t faze him much.

He reached into the crate, fingers curling around the bicep of the Synthetic, its arm sliding back with his touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was in shock, and that was about the best thing he could chalk it up to being. He hadn’t been excited about the arrival, not really, it was a drunk order, but he’d seen the invoice, he’d been carded a preview of the gorgeous redhead with stunning green eyes and a body just as awesome, and this certainly wasn’t it.

“It’s… it’s a dude…” he gulped, pulling his hand away from the Synthetic’s arm, reaching shakily for the handheld phone, fishing the invoice from the pocket of his jacket, strewn on the desk, and dialling the helpdesk number, “What the fuck…” he let out, visibly jumping when the Synthetic turned its head slowly and blinked up at him with the most intense blue eyes Dean had ever seen. “Hello? Hi Steve, my name is Dean Winchester, I ordered one of your… Synthetics… a week or so ago,”

“Right, what seems to be the problem? Not having second thoughts I hope,” the man sounded too chipper for Dean’s liking,

“No second thoughts, I’m just wondering where the hell my Synthetic is, cause this thing you sent me? This ain’t it.” He huffed, watching with wide eyes as the Synthetic sat up from its container, shaking and confused as it tried to take in its surroundings, it was definitely not what he had expected.

“It’s not? Do you have the serial number? It should be on the invoice,” Steve asked, waiting patiently as Dean flipped through the invoice to find the number,

“Sierra Yankee November Tango Hotel, Alpha six, zero four, zero nine, zero one, thirty-nine, forty, forty-two,” he read out, the man humming his acknowledgement after every couple of digits,

“Right, Dean Winchester, an A6 model? She’s not satisfactory?”

“She’s not even female, hell I don’t know how you got this so fucked up, I’ve got some dark haired dude who’s almost my goddamned height and did I mention it’s male? Very male,” he grumbled, still watching the synthetic, it had begun staring at him when he was reading out a serial number, canting its head curiously at him.

“Oh, uh… Well that… uhm… is it on?” Steve stammered, clacking away at his keyboard, writing the description Dean had given, though probably more eloquently,

“I guess, it’s staring at me, kinda freaky like,” he muttered, as if hushing his voice a fraction would make it stop looking interested in his actions, “Dude, are you on?” he asked it, a twitch of its brow signified that it had heard, its head turning the other way, puzzling him before it nodded slowly.

“Right, well it should have a serial number of its own if it’s a mix up,” Steve informed him,

“I don’t have to look for it, do I?” he asked, grimacing at the thought, Steve laughed nervously in his ear,

“No, no of course not, just ask it,” that seemed easy enough, ask the Synthetic for its serial number, but thus far it hadn’t spoken to him, even when asked a direct question, Dean was seriously hoping it wasn’t a silent one, he couldn’t deal with having to find out the thing’s number another way.

He swallowed thickly before addressing it, the stare was beginning to unnerve him, “hey, guy, you got a serial number,” it nodded, “care to share?” Dean ground out; the thing was apparently pedantic,

“Um…” um was not the way he expected a Synthetic to speak, he expected it to prattle off its code like it was nothing, he expected its voice to be hollow and neutral, not a low, gravelly rumble that shouldn’t come from something that looked so much like it had just lost its mom to a hunter. He frowned when the Synthetic’s tongue darted out to wet its lips, an oddly human action, “Synthetic Humanoid, Sierra Yankee November Tango Hotel, Hotel Uniform, zero four, zero one, three seven, two one, four zero, five seven,” it grumbled, seeming apprehensive, as if it could tell Dean was put off by its presence,

“You catch that?” Dean asked, pulling the phone from his ear and looking at it when all he heard was silence, the number was still ticking, so he’d not been hung up on, “Steve? You there buddy?” there was a click and Steve seemed to be back,

“Yeah sorry, I got that, did it say Synthetic Humanoid?” Steve asked, sounding a little less chipper, and more like he was about to panic,

“It did… Why? Does that mean something?” there was a click and silence followed, he was either muted or on hold, two things that would piss him off pretty quickly, “hey you, Synthetic Humanoid? What’s that when it’s at home?” he asked, the Synthetic regarding him before turning its attention to the room, it was still sat in the odd container it had arrived in, a soft white glow illuminating it as it grew confused,

“I don’t understand your request… are we at home now?” it asked, looking a little lost,

“Uh… this is my home, yeah, but can you tell me what a Synthetic Humanoid is?”

“I am a Synthetic Humanoid,” it said simply, narrowing its eyes in a way that Dean figured was it searching its memory for something, or thinking, but he wasn’t sure they did that, so he settled for searching.

“Uhm Sir? Can you please stop talking to it?” Steve was back,

“Why the hell should I? It’s the only damned thing trying to give me answers here,” Dean snapped irritably,

“It’s just… a Synthetic Humanoid? That’s… definitely not your order…” Steve said sheepishly, and Dean could hear someone talking to him in the background, but couldn’t hear exactly what was being said,

“No shit Sherlock,” Dean sighed, sitting rigid when the Synthetic’s attention snapped immediately to him, trying to process what he was saying, “You gonna tell me what this thing is or do I have to ask Marvin the paranoid android over here?” he asked, the Synthetic narrowing its eyes a fraction, looking pensive.

“No! Don’t ask it, Sir you really should just… ignore it… a Synthetic Humanoid is more advanced than your order, in fact, it’s a new development, our technicians figured out how to develop a learning program in the Synthetics, it starts off as pretty much a blank slate, I mean, sure it has some innate programming, stuff the owner ordered,”

“I didn’t order anything, I didn’t order a thinking Synth, I ordered a chick so I could fuck it, let’s be blunt here, and even that’s something I wasn’t particularly interested in doing,” Dean snapped, noticing that the Synthetic had turned to face straight on, drawing its knees up to its chest and staring miserably at the wall of Dean’s apartment.

“It was a mix up, you got the wrong order,”

“Can I return it?” Dean asked, “Can I get my actual order? In fact no, I don’t want my order, I want my money back,”

“Uhm… unfortunately, it _knows_ you now,” Steve uttered, Dean could hear the cringe in his voice,

“Knows me?”

“Yes, it’ll have imprinted on you by now, acknowledged you as its owner, since you must’ve touched it to _wake it up_ ,” the man explained,

“Right… so it knows I own it… so I can’t return it?” Dean asked, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with an advanced Synthetic, which now that he thought about it, must have cost a shit ton, did he owe them that money now? “Jesus, tell me I don’t have to pay you the difference…” he grimaced,

“Uh no… you won’t… we can take the Synthetic back, but it will have to be destroyed, since there is no way to reset them to factory settings,” Steve explained, “you’ll be refunded, and you will have credit with us as well, so that if and when you do decide to order with us again, you will either get a free Synthetic, or if you pick a model that costs more than the credit provided, you will have the credit taken off the total price,” Steve explained,

“Right, so I send this guy back, you destroy him, I get my money back, and a free toy if I so desire,” he rattled off, Steve affirming it.

Dean became quickly distracted though, when the miserable looking Synthetic rose rigidly to its feet, body all stiff lines, expression nervous and a little scared as it gave Dean a sidelong glance; Dean averted his gaze, not at all comfortable sat staring at a _naked_ man, Synthetic or not. He pushed himself back against the back of the couch when the Synthetic stepped into his view, giving him that same scared look; Steve was still prattling on about how to return the Synthetic, so Dean gestured for the Synthetic to follow him and pushed himself to his feet, keeping the phone to his ear as he walked into his bedroom, heading for the drawers below the wardrobe doors, pulling one open and grabbing a pair of boxers, turning and dropping his phone in shock.

The Synthetic was reclined on the bed, propped up on its elbows, staring at Dean, the fear gone from its expression, replaced with something more… vacant obedience… Dean threw the boxers at it,

“Shit what the hell are you doing‽” he balked, snatching the phone from the ground and making sure he hadn’t been hung up on, “One sec Steve, having an issue here,” he muttered, pressing the phone to his chest and watching the Synthetic not even pay attention to the underwear now draped over its stomach,

“Are we not partaking in coitus?” it asked, canting its head to the side,

“I thought you were a clean slate!” Dean blurted, “Why do you know about sex?”

“It’s one of my primary functions,” it admitted, sounding sheepish, it gave Dean a quizzical look before growing embarrassed, mimicking the flush of Dean’s cheeks with a pinkish hue of its own.

“Well your new primary function is to put your pants on, and keep them on,” Dean instructed, eyebrows rising in alarm when the Synthetic did just that, standing from the bed and sliding the thin black fabric up its legs far too slowly, adjusting them at its hips before pressing the flat of its hand to crotch, shifting things curiously. Dean eased its hand away, “Don’t touch that,” he said, stepping back when the Synthetic lifted its hands in alarm, tucking its arms in, hands hovering near its chest, but not touching anything.

Dean returned his attention to the customer service he was probably paying an arm and a leg for, “Steve, you there? Can you run me through how to return it again? I need to write it down,” he was startled when the phone was smacked from his hand, a hand barely missing his face in the process, but when he looked to the Synthetic, it was across the other side of the room, pressed into the corner and looking fragile, “What the hell‽” he snapped, the Synthetic flinching before staring at him with large, scared blue eyes, “Why would you do that?” he asked, thoroughly baffled by this Synthetic’s behaviour, wondering where the hell it had learned to smack things from people’s hands,

“Please don’t destroy me,” it blurted, clamping its hands over its mouth, clearly knowing what it had done was horribly wrong, “I didn’t mean to hit you, I just… that device… you were ordering my destruction, please don’t kill me,” its rough gravelly voice had changed, elevating an octave, and its chest was heaving, it appeared almost human as it cowered in the corner, and the way it said Dean was going to kill it? Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for it the way he would a human. He held his hands up slightly,

“I’m gonna pick up the phone, and I’m going to talk to Steve, you gonna promise you won’t hit me again?” he asked, the Synthetic nodding frantically; Dean looked up at it as he slowly bent to retrieve the phone, watching as it jerkily gestured at him, a theatrical gesture he’d done himself when watching horror movies and seeing the only character he liked doing something that guaranteed certain death. “Hey buddy, sorry about that, dropped my phone again,” he laughed nervously, “look, I’ve sort of been talking to this thing,” he saw the Synthetic flinch a little, “and it uh… it’s putting up a pretty good case here… destroying it is probably a bit much, isn’t it? Are you sure there’s no way to reset it?” he asked, watching relief colour the Synthetic’s face.

“There isn’t much we can do Mr Winchester, my manager says the only thing to do is destroy it, since we don’t think the guy who ordered it will want it when it has imprinted on someone else,”

“Can you ask him?” Dean asked,

“We can’t get through to him, we’ve left a message,” Steve explained, Dean sighing,

“Look, I’ll uh… keep an eye on it… while you call the guy; you call me back as soon as you hear something, alright? Cause I don’t think this thing should be destroyed cause you guys fucked up,” Dean explained, smiling a little when the Synthetic lit up, not really sure what to do with its face when it was happy; Dean gestured at the small smile on his own face, then gave the Synthetic a thumbs up when its lips twitched upward at the corners slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to show it understood.

“Okay… but the more you’re exposed to it, the more it will imprint on you and acknowledge you as its owner,”

“Then I’ll keep telling it I’m not its owner,” Dean said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and to him, it was; if this thing was going to learn from its environment and those around it, then he could teach it he doesn’t own it.

“Uh… okay then… We’ll call when we hear back, I’m so sorry about the mix up, we’ll get your refund started immediately,” Steve promised, and then Dean hung up on him, throwing the phone on the side table before leaving the room, the Synthetic following after a while, perching uneasily on the edge of the metallic crate it had arrived in, watching Dean’s every move as he set about getting ready for work, he was going to be late as is, this stupid fuck up on the part of the company had thrown him for a loop.

 

He quickly noticed that whenever he left the main room, the Synthetic would get up and pad towards the door to the bedroom, either standing peeping around the corner of the door, or walking through the bedroom and waiting by the bathroom door, depending. It was a little unnerving, walking out of the bathroom after a hasty shower to find the scantily clad Synth stood staring at the door, a worried look on its face, as if it was scared that Dean would never emerge.

He had pulled his coveralls on, his t-shirt really the only thing he needed beneath and was sitting down to tie the laces on his boots when he noticed the Synthetic stood watching him from the corner. Now that he looked at it properly, he took it all in; the dark mess of hair atop its head, the scarily bright blue eyes that betrayed its every “emotion” as it were, oddly effeminate, plump lips, contrasting the square jaw and slight shadow that indicated it could probably grow facial hair. His eyes travelled down the rest of it, it was slimmer than he was, slightly athletic but not as toned, a little soft in places, but he stopped himself when he saw his own boxer-briefs on the Synthetic, flushing darkly at the _very_ masculine outline he saw, deciding that looking the Synthetic over was not a good idea. It was looking him over too, mimicking his actions and absorbing the strong build of the man it thought was its owner.

“So…” Dean said slowly, “Uh… I’ve got work soon… buddy…” his words sounded clumsy and unsure to his own ears, the Synthetic cocking its… _his_ … head as he listened to Dean speak,

“Okay,” he said quietly, shifting from foot to foot where he stood, not entirely sure what to do with himself. It unnerved Dean, to see something he knew wasn’t human acting so incredibly like it was,

“You gonna be okay here on your own?” he asked, the Synthetic looking at him like he had just kicked a bag of kittens.

“Y-You’re leaving? But my software requires constant companionship for the imprinting process to complete!” he protested,

“Oh uh… well I can’t really take you to work pal,” he hummed, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets, not really sure what to do with this predicament they’d found themselves in.

The Synthetic’s eyes seemed to shimmer as he canted his head at Dean, brows drawn together, his expression appearing sad even though Dean figured he probably didn’t know his face was doing that. He huffed out a sigh and moved, brushing past the synthetic and pulling a drawer open, throwing a cotton tee at the Synthetic before moving onto his wardrobe and grabbing some jeans,

“There are rules, you don’t touch anything unless I say you can, you don’t talk to my colleagues, in fact, don’t talk at all, just shut up, sit tight, and wait for me to finish, okay?” The Synthetic opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and nodding, Dean realising it had just gone through a _very_ visible thought process, which wasn’t helping the creepy factor these things had to him.

He left the room whilst the Synth pulled on the clothes Dean gave him, waiting for him to emerge in the slightly large attire, the Synth had found socks and shoes from Dean’s wardrobe as well, the laces tied a little too loosely.

“You learn this watching me?” Dean asked, crouching down and tightening the Synth’s laces, he looked up to see him nod, smiling a little and standing once the second lace was tightened, “you need to make them tight,” he said simply, the Synth nodding, “So, what do I call you?”

“You called me Marvin,” he responded quickly, Dean grimacing a little,

“That was a joke,” he said in explanation, the Synth canting his head to the side, not really understanding, “I’ll just call you stuff like buddy for now, okay? Last thing I named was a malfunctioning Bot called Moss,” he said as an explanation, the Synthetic nodding and following when Dean grabbed his phone and wallet from the side, filling his pockets and heading out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

It was kind of weird the way the Synthetic shifted around behind him, jerky and nervous, shuffling a metre or so behind, like some kind of lesser being trailing him for scraps; it made Dean stiffen, glancing awkwardly over his shoulder to see the Synthetic quickly look away, transfixed on a mark in the hall, or cracks in the pavement when they got outside. He stopped after a few minutes, shoulders sagging in surrender before he turned on his heel,

“Alright, walk _with_ me, not _behind_ me, okay? You’re freaking me out,” he instructed, the Synthetic looking alarmed but walking until it was a step away from him,

“With?” he asked, not quite understanding what it was Dean was asking of him. Dean let out a frustrated sigh and went to step to the Synthetic’s side, only for it to move back in front of him,

“No, stay,” he said, trying again, this time the Synthetic stayed where it was, Dean turning so they were side by side, facing the direction of his work, “now walk _with_ me,” he instructed, realising how weird this would look if anyone was actually around. It was definitely awkward, walking silently beside a machine that had, only an hour ago, stood naked in his living room, frightened and confused, as if it had woken up in a strange environment, which really, it kind of had. “So…” he said, curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced through the corner of his eye, seeing the Synthetic had turned its head and was watching him intently, “I know I uh… ‘woke you up’ I guess,” he air quoted, the Synthetic watching his fingers curiously before mimicking the gesture back, “but uh… you didn’t… I dunno… experience anything before that did you? Anything you remember?” he asked, he was sating curiosity and making conversation at the same time, he sure as hell couldn’t do much else with the guy.

“Remember?” the Synthetic asked, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes in thought, “I remember a voice…” he said quietly,

“A voice?” Dean prompted, the Synthetic shrugging uncomfortably, as if he wasn’t sure why his shoulders were rising that way and wanted them to stop, but couldn’t figure it out.

“I believe he was calibrating me,” he stated, “I was being built and tested,”

“Did you see him?”

“No,” he said quickly, looking straight ahead with a confused expression on his face,

“Oh right, I mean, cause… you probably can’t see people before you see your owner, right?” the Synthetic remained silent, glancing nervously at him every now and then but keeping its lips sealed. He decided to continue the conversation on his own, speculating at the Synthetic’s construction, whether he was ‘alive’ when he was being made, “Since you’ve got that whole baby duck attachment thing going on,” he said, smirking when the Synthetic gave him a perplexed glance, something there had confused him, he had his money on the ducks. “So I guess you probably remember exactly what they sound like, don’t you? Do you have memory like a computer? Can you forget things?” The Synthetic wouldn’t answer, still puzzling over something or other, so Dean moved on, “I really don’t know how this is gonna work buddy, hell I don’t even know if my boss will let you in,” he didn’t know what Bobby would think about this, or how he’d explain it to him once they were there.

It ended up being easier than expected, they walked straight through to the man’s office, earning odd looks from just about everyone as they went past, Bobby’s look was the most confused though,

“Who the hell is that?” he asked, seeing the way the Synthetic migrated towards the corner of the room and stood there, trying to look small and insignificant, it reminded Dean of how Sam used to be before Dean got him through a ‘how to talk to girls’ tutorial.

“A little tact Bobby, please?” Dean was stalling a little, he didn’t know how to explain the Synthetic, especially considering he didn’t have a name and wasn’t human,

“I’ve used tact,” Bobby frowned, “I decided I wanna know who the hell this kid is, so I asked,” Dean nodded a little, Bobby had a point, he was being straightforward.

“He uh… look it doesn’t really matter, can we just say he’s an apprentice?” Dean asked, cringing as he spoke, waiting for Bobby’s reaction; the look on the old man’s face was almost amusing in how it changed repeatedly, settling on a knowing, tired expression in the end,

“I’m not even gonna ask…” he said, Dean gesturing his triumph by pumping his fist down towards himself, “I’m not paying him!” Bobby called out when Dean gestured the Synthetic out of the room,

“Don’t expect you to Bobby, thanks!” he answered, the Synthetic startling at him shouting right behind him.

He led the Synthetic to his workshop, thankful Richie wouldn’t be in until later that afternoon, he pulled a chair over to his station, where a larger bot resided on a lift, hovering above the ground. The Synthetic was enthralled, surpassing the chair in favour of approaching the bot, a machine being prepared to dig and support smaller channels within the tunnels, to set up something of a pit stop for the workers, Dean didn’t envy whoever had to work there. “Hey! You can’t touch that,” the Synthetic was reaching out to it, freezing with his hand lingering inches away, “Sorry buddy, you’re not qualified, now sit,” he instructed, the Synthetic looking a bit defeated but sitting where it was told to. It stayed silent as Dean stood looking over a chart, actually printed on paper, he placed it on the desk, circling things in red ink, well aware of the way the Synthetic watched his every move, clutching the seat beneath it. It made him a little nervous but it only took a few hours for him to get used to, significantly easier to ignore when he was on a board on the floor, working on the underside of the machine, cutting out some frayed wiring. He reached out, feeling along the ground and frowning, turning to see there was no gun-like tool in the kit he’d brought over,

“Richie,” he ground out, annoyed that the man had been through his things without asking, _again_. He heard footsteps, watching his own trainers pad around past his legs and towards where his hand and kit were, stopping and turning before the heels lifted and he realised they were crouching, a curious set of blue eyes peering at him past the messy hair that slipped even further out of place with the angle of the Synthetic’s head. He idly wondered how the Synthetic was that flexible, if it was something built into his structure, the engineer in him wondering how exactly the Synthetic was composed.

“You are looking for something,” he stated, “what is a Richie? Perhaps I can help you find it,” he suggested, Dean staring quite blankly at him for a few seconds before he started laughing, the sound making the Synthetic’s eyes widen in alarm,

“Ha ha, God, no I’m not looking for Richie,” he said as his laughter trailed off, “I’m looking for a wire insulator,” the Synthetic gave him a thoughtful look then before its expression fell blank again,

“I think I know what that is,” he concluded, “I will find one,” he said before standing up straight, the dark trainers turning and walking out of sight,

“Don’t leave the room!” Dean shouted, not hearing any kind of response from the Synthetic. He thought he was going to have to get up and find out where he’d gone, seriously not wanting to have to go on a hunt for the damned thing, but as he was about to ease himself from under the machine, the feet returned and the Synthetic crouched down holding a small gun-like tool. He was surprised to say the least that the Synthetic had found it so quickly, “Uh… good job man, that’s it…” he said, holding his hand out to accept the tool, but the Synthetic seemed to have other ideas, pulling it just out of reach, “what are you doing?”

“My apologies,” it said, “but I wish to extract information,” Dean grew worried, extract information? By doing what? Why would it need a wire insulator to do that?

“Uh… information?” he asked, lifting a hand to pull at his collar, starting to feel a little hot where he was,

“Tell me about the ducks,” he said, it took him a minute to realise what the hell this man was asking him to do in exchange for the insulator,

“Wh-what?” he asked, still not wholly sure,

“The ducks, I have tried to theorise what it is you meant, but I do not understand,” he said, voice rough and stern, “What is a ‘baby duck attachment thing’?” Dean was surprised to hear his own voice come from the Synthetic,

“Don’t do that,” he hissed through his teeth, the Synthetic cocking his head to the side, “Don’t replay things, you say them yourself, you don’t just play them back,” he tried to explain in a way the Synthetic would understand.

“Oh… okay…” it frowned, not entirely sure why what it had done was wrong, “Please tell me about the ducks,”

“Can you just give me the tool? I have work to do,”

“But I want to…”

“I’ll tell you about the damned ducks while I work,” Dean snapped, cringing when the tool clattered on the ground and the Synthetic rushed off, though Dean heard the scrape of the stool, knowing the Synthetic was now perched on that. He heaved out a sigh and wheeled himself from beneath the machine, it wasn’t like there was much left to do, and he should probably eat anyway. He sat on the board, watching the Synthetic fidget in his seat, staring at the floor with a sad look on its face, once again making Dean feel horridly guilty for upsetting it in any way. “Alright, come on,” he said, the Synthetic looking up at him in confusion, “we’ll go to the café, I’ll tell you all about the ducks there,” he said with a tired smile, unable to stop himself from grinning when the Synthetic sat up straight and smiled that weird half-smile at him, excitement lighting up his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, circling the bot and picking up his insulator, tucking it into his kit before heading for the Synthetic, patting him on the shoulder. He curled his fingers around the joint and eased him off of the stool, guiding him through the door and down the halls, leading him out into a courtyard within the complex.

There was one open front workshop present, but the opposite side of the courtyard consisted of a café, an actual café, not a crappy little cafeteria, it was a small Roman’s outlet, Dean had been thrilled when it had been established, since the cafeteria had served awful coffee and poor quality grown meat in their burgers. Dean guided the Synthetic over, about to seat him and head off to get himself a coffee and a sandwich when he realised something.

“Hey do you want something to eat?” he asked as he moved to stand in front of the Synthetic, getting a confused look from him, “food, drink, I’m buying,” he said, he could afford to, regardless of his refunded money from the company, he had topped his food card up twenty bucks last week.

“I… don’t need sustenance…” he admitted quietly, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment at that fact,

“But can you eat? Cause if you can, they’ve got a mean shredded beef here, you might like it,” Dean thumbed towards the counter, where there were various tubs of ingredients laid out, waiting to be put on a sandwich. The Synthetic stood looking thoughtful for a minute before nodding, “not gonna clog you up or anything is it?”

“No… I believe my insides are proportionate to your own according to specifications,” he said, “though I am unsure,” Dean stared at him open mouthed, not entirely sure how to respond to that,

“Okay…” he said finally, “beef sandwiches,” he turned as he spoke, the Synthetic looking around for a moment before following, hovering just behind Dean, watching as he got the man behind the counter to throw a pretty monstrous sandwich together, cutting it in half once it was made. They were given two plastic baskets with their sandwich halves in, as well as two plastic cups of coffee, carrying them to a small table outside the actual café and sitting down; the Synthetic lifted the edge of his sandwich, looking within the long roll curiously, “not a fan?” Dean asked, the Synthetic looking up at him slowly,

“I have never eaten,” he stated. He should have known that really, he’d already determined the thing hadn’t really ‘lived’ before he’d woken it up this morning,

“Well enjoy, I know I will,” Dean smiled, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite of it, the Synthetic watching him, staring at Dean’s mouth as he chewed. It almost made Dean feel self-conscious enough to consider covering his mouth, but he wasn’t one to bother, so he just tried to make it look worse. The Synthetic contemplated his eating methods a little longer before raising his own sandwich to his mouth, tentatively tearing a small chunk off, chewing it slowly. Dean couldn’t figure out the look on his face, he seemed to be concentrating on eating, a little too hard for Dean’s liking, “Dude, relax, enjoy the flavours, chewing isn’t a sport, you don’t need to focus that much,” he tried, the Synthetic blushing and swallowing, soon taking another bite out of the sandwich.

It was definitely not the weirdest thing Dean had dealt with thus far, watching the Synthetic puzzle over a sandwich, it got better when he went for his coffee, sniffing it curiously before taking a sip. Dean couldn’t help but laugh at the faces the Synthetic pulled, some sort of awkward mix of disgust, confusion, and nausea, sticking his tongue out and making a gagging gesture, trying to work out how to get the taste out of his mouth. He left the Synthetic to his disdain, heading inside the café and getting a bottle of water, offering that to him once he was outside again, sitting back down and trying not to laugh.

“Wh-what _was_ that?” the Synthetic asked, touching his fingers to his tongue,

“Coffee,” Dean supplied, “I take it you don’t like it,”

“I am… how did you say it? Not a fan,” he grimaced, making a nauseous face when Dean sipped at his own coffee.

They settled into eating and drinking together rather quietly, though Dean noticed the way the Synthetic looked up at him curiously, expectantly, waiting for Dean to start explaining what he’d meant that morning. He liked the fact that the Synthetic was inquisitive, it was a sign of this so-called learning thing this model was supposed to boast, it made him a little deeper and interesting, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder about what made him tick.

“So, couple of thousand years ago, there was this dude, an ornithologist,” he got a quizzical look at that, “knows a lot about birds, can’t remember his name though… Anyway, he had these ducks, and he pointed out that when they hatched, they’d attach themselves, imprinting, you know?” he explained, trying to remember what he’d been shown in school, “to whatever they first saw that seemed like a suitable mom, so they’d have a human as who they imprinted on, or a cat or something,” he finished, the Synthetic looking at him with intrigue, narrowing his eyes a fraction.

“Geese,” he said, Dean frowning at him,

“Huh?”

“They were Geese, Lorenz et al,”

“You already knew?” he asked, wondering why the hell the Synthetic had gone through all that hassle if he already _knew_ ,

“No…” he said, blushing, “I… I found a connection…” he stated, looking over at a sign on the window of the café, Dean looked over, it was a connection to the building’s networking. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through a few things, the Synthetic watching him curiously, he found what he was looking for and glanced around nervously, trying to see if anyone else was nearby,

“Get off it,” he said,

“Huh?”

“Now, disconnect, _now_ ,” he insisted, the Synthetic looking thoroughly confused, “ _Now_ ,” he said again, holding his phone up to the Synthetic, showing him the connections made to the main network, the Synthetic’s serial number showing up on the list. The Synthetic’s eyes widened and he shrank into his seat, Dean looking through the transparent module, lowering it when the number vanished, “Shit I hope nobody saw that…” he muttered to himself, he seriously couldn’t have dealt with any questions if somebody noticed a Synthetic had logged on.

 

He decided herein, from his experiences thus far with the Synthetic, that there were maybe a few ground rules they should develop before going out in public again, and had sat on his bed with a notepad jotting them down, trying to make some kind of elaborate guidelines that would prevent the Synthetic from being outed as non-human, since Dean really didn’t want to deal with that kind of speculation about his sexuality. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the Synthetic had been the one he’d ordered, he could deal with being a sexual deviant, but having people think he’d gone gay all of a sudden seriously wasn’t his idea of a good social profile, and there was no other reason people bought Synthetics, they could hide behind the knowledge of household chores all they wanted, everyone knew they bought them to fuck them.

His list of precautions was getting rather extensive, so much so that he wasn’t sure the Synthetic in the lounge would really understand all of it; he sighed and flipped the book closed, he’d run these by him and add more should the need arise, which it more than likely would. Pushing off the bed, he rubbed at his face tiredly before walking out into the lounge, seeing the Synthetic sat hunched over on the couch, a hand pushed through his messy dark hair. It worried Dean, who approached quickly and pressed a hand to his shoulder,

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, blue eyes locking onto him, a curious look on the Synthetic’s face,

“Of course,” he answered, but Dean was transfixed on what was in the Synthetic’s other hand. A book lay closed in his lap, the Synthetic shutting it when his attention had been lured elsewhere, the cover a host to some kind of heavenly being; Dean looked from the book to the Synthetic, then back to the book, snatching it from his slack grip and moving to pull the lid back on the disturbed cardboard box, notepad forgotten on the floor beside the couch.

“What the hell are you doing?” he balked, voice raising an octave as he hefted the box away from the Synthetic,

“I… I was reading…” the Synthetic stated, worry forming in his expression, “Have I done something wrong?” he asked,

“Y-yes! Don’t… you don’t touch this okay? It’s not yours, you have no fucking right,” he was all but hugging the box to his chest, this damned machine had no right touching that box, and Dean knew he should have stored it somewhere else, but it was common sense not to mooch about in peoples stuff just because they weren’t in the room.

“I’m sorry, please don’t be mad,” the Synthetic said quietly, looking down right ashamed as he ducked his head, “I won’t touch things that don’t belong to me,” he said, staring intently at the ground, hoping Dean would stop being angry at him, he soon chanced a glance at Dean, seeing him stood looking as if he were going to run any second now, “I’m sorry…” he whispered, closing his eyes and bowing his head. Dean stood holding the box for a few more seconds before placing it down in front of the Synthetic, pushing it back under the coffee table with his foot. He sat down beside him, holding the book by his knees, running his fingers over the title,

“Who is Mary?” the Synthetic asked, hands clasped together loosely,

“H-huh?” he grunted, not sure where the hell the Synthetic got the name from,

“It says it belongs to Mary,” the Synthetic stated, reaching nervously, fingers hovering over the cover of the book, Dean didn’t stop him, watching as he carefully opened the cover, revealing a stamp below the title inside.

“Oh…” he let out, “She uh… She’s my mom… this is… was hers…” he mumbled, “She really liked History, especially the theology people believed in back then,” he turned back to the cover, looking at the proud, soldier-like being depicted on the front, the book was about Angels, all of the different ones mentioned and what they do and represent, he remembered his mother telling him that Angels were watching over him as a child, he never really believed it, though at first it was because he didn’t think Angels could go to space, now he was just a sceptic.

“I do not have a mother,” the Synthetic said simply,

“Well, yeah,” Dean agreed, he couldn’t see a Synthetic having anything like a mother, unless there was something massive the companies weren’t telling them, but the Synthetic had said he’d been assembled, and he didn’t think that he knew how to lie.

“What does that make me?” he asked, “You are a son, you have a mother, I do not have a mother, therefore I am a…” he trailed off,

“I don’t know…” Dean admitted quietly. That was definitely something to think about, “If a person has no parents, they tend to be called orphans,” he said,

“Would you call _me_ an orphan?” the Synthetic asked, Dean shrugging a little,

“Maybe, but someone made you right? That voice?” he looked to the Synthetic then, seeing him shift uncomfortably, “so I guess you could say they’re your parent,” he suggested, watching the Synthetic shake its head. “Look I sort of know how you feel,” he said, the Synthetic looking at him curiously, “my parents are both gone,”

“You’re an orphan too?” the Synthetic asked,

“Technically? I don’t think so, I was an adult when my dad passed away,” he shrugged, “God this is depressing…” he sighed, opening the book in his hands, flipping through the pages.

He missed his mother, he realised, didn’t like having reminders around his apartment, that was part of the reason he kept some of her things hidden in that cardboard box, he just didn’t want to see them, but he still wanted them around. But as he flipped through the old book, reading about some of the hundreds of identified angels and their stories, he lost himself in the memories, when he was a kid curled up next to his mother, doting on her every word as she read him the story of Ananchel and her part in delivering the message of Christ, or how Sammael carried the soul of Moses to Heaven, or any of the hundreds of short stories contained within this small, beaten up vessel, and though he never believed any of it, he believed her faith was sincere.

Dean wasn’t sure when it happened, but a warm presence had snuck under his arm, curling up against his side and staring off at the far wall, he didn’t think anything of it, reminded of when Sam used to be younger, how he’d nestle up to Dean’s side and ask him about their mother, or what Dean was reading about. Despite the type of person Dean was often perceived as, he loved books, and had read his brother many of the classics, or what he considered classics, sci-fi or fantasy novels written hundreds of years ago, immortalised in film and text, crammed haphazardly into the shelves lining Dean’s living room wall. Having someone next to him this way as he read, it felt good, he felt like somebody counted on him, wanted him around, he certainly didn’t feel like he had a doll with a child-like nature tucked under his arm.

He remained like this for a few hours, listening to the breathing of the Synthetic, fascinated that he breathed at all, and reading about angels, going from Sphere to Sphere, he was reaching the third tier of the Second Sphere when he found it, looking from the book to the Synthetic beside him, squeezing his shoulder slightly and giving him a light shake,

“Hey,” he whispered, the Synthetic blinking blearily at him, looking down at how close they were and getting ready to move away, but Dean’s hand kept him still, he didn’t want to lose this oddly fraternal contact just yet. “What do you think?” he asked, angling the book towards the Synthetic, who scanned it briefly before looking up at Dean,

“Known for watching events and not interfering…” he mumbled, quoting from the page, “I don’t understand…” he admitted,

“The name,” Dean pointed,

“Mh…” the Synthetic shrugged, “for me?” he asked after a moment, lifting a hand to point at himself as he realised what it was Dean was getting at,

“Yeah, Cassiel or Castiel?” he asked, giving the Synthetic the choice between the two variations of the angel of solitude and tears,

“Cassiel…” he said slowly, sounding the name out, “Castiel…” he said after, narrowing his eyes, “I would like it greatly if you picked,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Me?” he asked, the Synthetic nodding, “Well… Castiel… I like Castiel…”

“I like you too, Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean lifted his hips as he felt fingers easing his boxers down, spreading his legs a little to accompany the warm body that nestled between them, stroking his thigh and teasing his half-hard cock, touch feather light and backed by the utmost care, treating his body like something precious and fragile. He gasped when a hot dampness dragged across the tip, testing and tasting, rousing him from his sleep in the most entrancing way,

“Mmh…” his head fell back as he opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling of his lounge, sluggish brain trying to catch up with what was going on around him, slowly realising he’d fallen asleep on the couch. It proved difficult as a hand encircled the base of his shaft, a hot tongue exploring the edge of the glans, drawing a cuss from him as his hand moved to tangle in mussed hair, short and in an infatuating state of disarray, not what he was expecting at all. A hot mouth engulfed him and he gained enough control to tilt his head, to look at the dark mess of hair atop a familiar head, bright blue eyes watching him, a hint of a smile curling the lips around his dick.

“F-Fuck,” Dean gasped, tightening his grasp on the Synthetic’s hair, on _Castiel’s_ hair, his mind screaming for him to pull the Synthetic away, his body opposing that line of thought by shifting his hips towards the other male. He wasn’t sure why the hell this was happening, what had given Castiel the idea but “oh fuuh…” his thoughts were torn from him, watching mesmerised as Castiel’s lips, puffier than usual, slid up and down him, sucking gently and lavishing him with the attention of his tongue, “w-wait, stop,” the mouth halted and all Dean could focus on was the feel of a hot tongue pressed to the underside of his dick and the warm hand girdling him. He gained a semblance of control and moved his hand to Castiel’s face, easing him back, Castiel took the hint and pulled away, tongue and lips tormenting Dean in their retreat, fingers slipping away tantalisingly slowly.

“Is… is everything okay? Am I not satisfactory?” the Synthetic looked disheartened as he spoke, licking his lips slowly, “It’s my first time, I’ll improve, you can instruct me?” he suggested, Dean’s hand falling from his face to his lap, realising the position they were in, how naked he was from the waist down, his softening dick far too close to this _male_ Synthetic’s face.

“Get off,” he said, lifting his leg a little, pushing Castiel back with his foot, the Synthetic went slowly, sitting almost cross legged and watching Dean with a forlorn look on his face, well and truly hurt by this rejection. When Castiel was far enough, he leant forwards and grabbed the boxers hooked on his left foot, slipping his right foot in and pulling them up hastily, wondering how the hell Castiel had managed to strip him of his coveralls and boots before he’d woken up, he blamed his slight wood on the morning.

“I don’t understand, I’ve been led to believe that waking to fellatio is an enjoyable experience,” Dean didn’t know how to respond to that, and he couldn’t for the life of him get used to how Castiel phrased things, “Have I been misinformed?” in truth, Castiel had not been misinformed, Dean was a big fan of waking up to someone sucking him off, though usually that someone was a girl, and he’d slept with them the night before, he certainly hadn’t started thinking about them as a pseudo sibling before it happened.

“Where the hell did you hear that?” he asked, voicing the first thought that rushed through his mind,

“I… I don’t know…” Castiel admitted, looking at the floor sheepishly, “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, Dean groaning and rubbing his face, he couldn’t believe he was feeling bad about telling his molester off.

“Don’t… don’t be sad, shit I didn’t mean to sound angry, I’m not angry,” he sighed, “seriously,” Castiel looked up at him, expression still saddened and unsure, “would you get up?” he asked, he hated looking at Castiel past his legs, the whole viewpoint a blatant reminder of what he’d just stopped the Synthetic from doing. Castiel nodded, wiping his mouth before standing in one fluid movement, pulling at the crotch of his jeans as he tried to get comfortable, shifting from foot to foot.

“Can I?” he asked, gesturing to the couch beside Dean, who nodded and pushed himself to the other end, turning so he was facing Castiel once they were both seated, ignoring the fact that Castiel had been adjusting his own slight problem.

“I didn’t… I didn’t opt to keep you around because of sex, I thought we’d established that,” he tried to explain, blushing as he thought about Castiel sprawled on his bed on the first day, and then to the sight of him eagerly tasting his 

dick, the smile Castiel had given him after Dean had vocalised his appreciation, when their eyes had met.

“Oh…” Castiel looked perplexed, fidgeting where he sat, “But I wanted to…” he said quietly, and Dean didn’t really know what to do, how to deter Castiel from something he thought might have been innate, a built in instinct to give sexual gratification to whomever he had imprinted on, a thought which in itself was terrifying.

“Well okay,” Dean said, trying to think of a way to explain why they wouldn’t be partaking in that sort of business, he looked up to see Castiel had eased himself closer, the Synthetic’s teeth biting into his bottom lip slightly. The Synthetic reached out, touching his fingers to Dean’s leg, “Woah, what’d I just say?” he asked, pushing Castiel’s hand away from his leg.

“You said okay,” Castiel stated, “I thought…” and that was it really, Castiel _thought_ , he assumed, had opinions, didn’t like coffee, he made decisions, apparently bad ones; he thought Dean was encouraging him.

“No, definitely not!” Dean said, enunciating it as best he could, “I do not want sex with you, in any form, ever,” he explained, “Unless I specifically say so, you should assume that I do not want to have sex with you,” he figured that was clear enough, and he managed to not bow defeat to yet another disappointed look from Castiel. “Do you understand?” he asked, Castiel nodding,

“I understand,” he confirmed, pushing himself back into the corner of the couch, watching Dean and waiting, clearly not sure what to do now all his prospective plans were on hold.

“I don’t…” Dean sighed, Castiel frowning, “I don’t understand, is that all you know how to do?” he asked,

“I know the theory behind many sexual acts…” Castiel stated, Dean fidgeting uncomfortably,

“no, I mean… only sex?” he gestured slightly with his hands, watching Castiel mimic it before settling back down, “You don’t do other things?”

“What do you want me to do?” Castiel asked, seeking guidance,

“I don’t know, read, watch TV, turn some music on and teach yourself to dance? I don’t care what you do, just do what you want,” Castiel gave him a saddened look then, and Dean had a feeling that it was because of what Castiel actually wanted to do, or thought he wanted to do, not being available. “I have work though…” Dean admitted, pushing off of the couch and finding his coveralls, Castiel jumping to his feet as well, ready and expectant, Dean realised he’d not gone over those rules, that seeing Castiel reading his mother’s book had distracted him completely, “You can’t come,” he said, looking elsewhere as Castiel sagged in disappointment, “it’s only a half-day, just stay home, amuse yourself, you can read any of those,” he said, gesturing to the shelving lining the walls, “or watch any of the movies on this,” he ran through how to use the monitor to access his film catalogue quickly, “just leave that box alone,” he said after, leaving Castiel browsing the shelves so he could find a change of t-shirt, pulling his coveralls on before returning to find his boots. Castiel was still looking at the wall of books, not paying attention to Dean as he milled around, getting himself ready for his half-day. “I’ll be back in about four hours,” he called out, Castiel stopping and glancing over to him,

“Have a nice day,” he smiled, Dean laughing at the domesticity of it all before leaving.

 

He was pretty much left to his own devices at work, Bobby giving him a project of Richie’s to finish off since the guy had bunked off without telling anyone, it wasn’t anything particularly challenging, it never was when that guy was involved, so it left Dean a lot of headspace to think with. He couldn’t help but worry about what was happening in his house, realising how hopeless Castiel seemed after only a day of functioning, hopeless at most things, Dean’s mind supplied images from that morning, burning blue eyes gazing up at him. He shuddered at the thought, trying to remind himself that Castiel could be setting his home ablaze for all he knew. On that note, he pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed his home alarm systems, nothing seemed amiss, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the other was up to. He wasn’t a paranoid person, if he was he’d never answer his door, the amount of women he could have possibly pissed off with his dicking about was immense, but leaving someone confused and infantile alone in his home made him worry for _their_ safety.

His shift passed quickly, though he stayed later to finish up and discuss what he would be dealing with when he came in on Monday, as he went to leave though, Bobby beckoned him back,

“Dean? I gotta ask, your friend gonna be with you on Monday or was yesterday a one off?” he asked, Dean shrugging a little awkwardly,

“I guess he’ll be with me sometimes, that okay?” he wasn’t sure what Bobby thought of Castiel, the man hadn’t really expressed any interest aside from finding out who he was, and he didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“He’s your responsibility, you keep him from damaging the equipment or himself and he can do what he wants,” he said, and Dean was relieved, he didn’t like the idea of leaving Castiel at home on his own all the time, it was like leaving a new pet on its own for too long, the furniture was bound to get chewed up.

“His name is Castiel by the way,” Dean said offhandedly, nodding at the blank look Bobby gave him before turning back to the door, “See you Monday,” he called out over his shoulder, checking his phone, he’d been delayed three hours and Castiel hadn’t come out in search of him, which made him worry a little.

The delay didn’t appear to be an issue though, not even with the added stop for Thai food he made, opening the door of his apartment to see Castiel sat on the couch, knees up and a book held just past them, a rapt, wide eyed look on his face as he read, about half way through the book. He didn’t even look up when Dean entered, bypassing the Synthetic in favour of unpacking their dinner; the smell of Thai food soon filled the room, Dean watching Castiel as he placed the containers on the counter, impressed that the Synthetic didn’t seem to have noticed him. His mouth was open, slack jawed as his eyes scanned across the page, turning it after a minute or so, completely absorbed in the text; Dean approached silently, resting his hands on the back of the couch and reading over Castiel’s shoulder.

“Any good?” Castiel startled at Dean’s words, whipping his head round to look at him, wide eyed and alarmed, eyes shifting back and forth, between Dean and the book, as if he were desperate to get back to his reading,

“The spiders,” he whispered, “they’re going to eat the dwarves,” he looked terrified, and Dean realised Castiel probably didn’t know how books worked, that they didn’t end in the middle just because it _looked_ a bit spotty.

“Oh no,” Dean gasped, “keep reading,” he urged, Castiel turning his attention to the page before him, reading over Castiel’s shoulder, he’d read this one a hundred times, and it was pretty clear he had too, the pages were _taped_ in, the tape yellowed and wonky, the craftsmanship of a fifteen year old who’d dropped it in the bath once and had to dry the pages with a borrowed hairdryer. He couldn’t help but smile when Castiel began humming, tapping a finger on italicised words to determine the beat of the written rhyme, he left him then, humming when another song came and making quiet noises, urging the little character to hurry and free his friends.

He was plating up the food when he heard a squeak of a noise, a quiet “no!” as something changed within the text, he smiled to himself, mentally picturing what was going on in the book.

“Cas,” he called out, watching Castiel turn and give him a completely baffled look, “you gotta stop, I bought us food,”

“I don’t need it,” he insisted, turning back to his book,

“Yeah well you’re gonna eat it,” Dean was trying to wind him up, to stall him in his reading and see if he could get him to act the way Sam did when he interrupted his studying with reheated pizza.

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah you do,” Castiel let out a whine of a noise,

“But… but the spiders…” he whimpered, Dean setting up two places to eat at the counter,

“The spiders will wait,” he said, Castiel mulling this over for a moment before sliding a folded strip of paper into the book and placing it on the coffee table, standing up slowly and padding over to the kitchenette, feet bare.

The spiders did wait, longer than Castiel had anticipated, as when he had gone to pick the book up again half an hour later, he had pulled out his pseudo bookmark, his expression apprehensive enough for Dean to pluck the slip from his hand and unfold it, revealing the list he’d made. He read through it, already knowing what it said and feeling like he was demanding a lot from the Synthetic, trying to get him to act like something he was not,

“I will do my best,” Castiel said, “to remember and emulate these things, though I do not understand why,” he admitted, shame coming off him at his inability to process why Dean wanted him to keep his connections closed, to determine whether his questions were something a human would ask, to not refuse food, or mention his being a Synthetic, amongst many other things he felt like doing naturally, like staring at things he didn’t understand.

Dean tried to explain, to help Castiel understand the prejudices people held about those with Synthetics, the prejudices _Dean_ had held, still held if he was honest, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head of what _could_ have been happening to this Synthetic, whether it would have been welcomed by him, if he would have been treated fairly. Over an hour later, Castiel still didn’t understand, didn’t like the fact that his mere existence meant Dean was being held at some lesser standard than other men,

“It’s not fair,” he said quietly, now sat with his knees drawn to his chest, arms curled around them, his cheek pressed against his knee as he looked towards Dean, “why would they see you that way, even if we _were_ intimate?” he asked, and Dean shrugged, he didn’t know how to answer that without upsetting the Synthetic further, an odd concept in itself but it was apparent that this was what Castiel was feeling, upset.

“I don’t know Cas,” he sighed, “Whatever the reason, it’s probably not a very good one,” it was the unnatural argument, an argument that had cropped out repeatedly through history, one he’d been lectured about when he called someone a fag in school. He remembered these things, these life lessons that countered the words of his father, he half hoped that would happen about this, that he’d not let a little voice in his head judge people like Pamela for seeking love in an unorthodox place, bodily affection from someone who wouldn’t just walk out on them for something that couldn’t be fixed.

“You keep calling me that,” Castiel noted, interrupting Dean’s chain of thought,

“Hm?”

“Cas, you keep calling me Cas,” Dean frowned a little, thinking back; so he did, the nickname cropping up without him even really being aware of it,

“I like nicknames,” he shrugged, he tended to give everyone he spend enough time with a nickname if they didn’t already have one,

“Do you have one?”

“My name’s one syllable, kind of hard to make it shorter,” he said, despite the fact that he constantly called his little brother Sammy, so he was well aware that nicknames didn’t only shorten them, but he’d rather not have Castiel calling him Dean-o or something stupid like that.

“Oh…” Castiel sat quietly then, turning his head and propping his chin on his knees instead, staring straight ahead, mulling over both the nickname and what Dean had told him about prejudices, trying to come to terms with a concept so bizarre.

 

They settled together over the next week or so, getting used to each other and comfortable with the situation, there were no more early morning ‘incidents’ as Dean liked to call them, as Dean had taken to sleeping in  his bedroom again and Castiel milled around in the lounge. Dean didn’t think he slept, but found out one morning that he did go into a sort of standby, which looked an awful lot like sleeping, even his breathing had slowed, but Dean had thought that him sleeping sat up didn’t look particularly comfortable, and had pushed him over on the couch, draping the thin blanket there over him before returning to bed with the glass of water he’d emerged to fetch.

Another thing he had noticed about Castiel was his aversion to people who simply were not Dean, he had put Dean between him and anyone he had prolonged exposure to, like Richie when he was working, or Pamela when he’d been to visit. Castiel hadn’t even taken to the other Synthetic, curling himself against Dean’s back and hiding from the cold blue eyes that stared him down. It had brought about a new rule when he’d done the same thing in front of Bobby, who had given him an odd look but not said anything about it, something he couldn’t guarantee everyone would do, so from there onwards, if Castiel got scared, he could put Dean between himself and whatever it was, but he could not invade his personal space. This rule extended to casually as well, the Synthetic growing fond of lingering a little too close when Dean was working, cooking, talking to someone, eating, it didn’t really matter _what_ he was doing, if Castiel was in the room at the time, the Synthetic would get too close for comfort.

Castiel had forgone the trip to Dean’s work this time round, some Saturday evening overtime that Castiel decided was significantly less interesting than the final book in the series he was reading, despite having expressed a disliking of two of the Hobbits, which left Dean sat on his own in his workshop. He was reassembling a small power cell about the size of his palm and consisting of approximately a hundred and seventy parts, each one more fiddly than the last, and each one important for it to work. It was vital that he got everything in place, which was why having Bobby shuffle quietly into the workshop and plunk himself down on the stool opposite Dean was very detrimental to his productivity. Bobby had that look on his face, that ‘we need to talk’ look, which usually meant Dean had done something horrifically wrong, so he had his chips on his encounter with Amy a few weeks ago.

He continued to work for as long as he could tolerate the stare, but he succumbed and placed everything down with an exasperated sigh,

“What?” it was curt, but he figured if he was going to get a verbal lashing, he wasn’t going to do it with a chipper mood and a spring in his step.

“About that Synthetic of yours,” Dean’s sass visibly drained from him, he swallowed thickly and tried to look for an excuse, an escape, _anything_ to prevent this conversation from happening, he couldn’t deal with the judging he was about to get,

“Wh-what?” he asked, trying to play dumb, but his voice had cracked and Bobby had already sussed his initial reaction,

“I gotta say, after I heard what happened with Amy, I was expecting _something_ brash, but this?” Dean looked to the table, discomfort and a hint of shame affecting his demeanour entirely, “She must’ve socked you pretty hard to turn you queer,” the way Bobby said queer wasn’t judgemental, he didn’t care who Dean slept with ultimately, he’d had this conversation with him when he was younger, since his dad had seemed nonplussed about his temporary dismissal from school for homophobic behaviour. The way he said it sounded unsure, like he was testing the water, feeling out whether this was what had actually happened,

“I uh… I’m not… Cas and me? We’re not…”

“He’s a Synthetic,” Bobby stated, and Dean knew what he was thinking,

“I got the wrong order… Cas was a mistake on the company’s part,”

“And you kept him?” Bobby sounded sceptical, figured Dean was trying to cover things up, “Dean you know, if you _are_ …”

“I’m not… I kept him because they were gonna k… they were gonna destroy him, and it wasn’t his fault, I didn’t see why he had to suffer for some idiot’s fuck up,” he was getting defensive, trying to justify why he’d done something decent without his dick benefiting from it, an odd feat in itself but one he’d made without a second thought.

“Okay, don’t get snappy with me boy,” Bobby interrupted gruffly, “I’m just a little concerned that you’re walking around with one of those _things_ a little too openly,”

“Openly? Bobby how did you even find _out_ what he is?” Dean asked, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes, scrutinising the man before him,

“Noticed a Synth was using my network a while back, only thing to show up here that I didn’t recognise was your boy,”

“He’s not my _boy_ ,” Dean grumbled, hating the fact that the cat was already out of the bag, at least where his boss was concerned. “You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you? Cause I don’t want them to think I’m fucking that thing,” that thing, he realised, was Castiel, a goofy little guy with an enthusiasm for books Dean had seen in his brother and their mom, had a curiosity and enigmatic charm to him that Dean couldn’t help but find amusing and endearing, and here he was calling him a _thing_ , as if he was sharing his home with an autonomous vacuum cleaner, not another person, Synthetic or otherwise.

“Hell if I’m gonna spread a dirty thing like that, the last thing I need is people thinking my employees are deviants, especially not my best one,” Bobby grumbled, “queer I could handle, told you as much already, but this? I don’t think we’re ready for that kind of… _progression_ …” he dropped the word with disdain, and Dean couldn’t believe how much had changed in such a short span of time, how he’d gone from having the exact same mind set towards Pamela and her Synthetic to wanting to fix Bobby’s worldview, or at least his view on Castiel.

His fists were clenched and he was scowling at the table, trying to collect his thoughts, to decide whether this rant in his head was worth the hassle he’d get for it, but Bobby made that decision for him, leaving before the Winchester shaped volcano could bubble over and erupt with anger or indignation. He was glad in the end, his temper never did anything good for him in the long run, or the short run actually, as the phantom pain in his jaw would attest to, so he put his concentration into fixing the power cell, trying to push aside the need to validate himself, to prove to the world that he was just slacking a little in his sex life, that it didn’t matter that he had some guy living in his apartment with him, it wasn’t a big deal, hell, he’d managed it a few times when his brother was staying with him, how was this any different?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's heterosex in this here chapter.

There were bad decisions to be made in this world, and for some reason, Dean had opted into the program that pumped them out every twelve seconds, which was how he ended up at a new bar on his route home with his coveralls tied about his waist in a poor attempt at not looking like he’d just got off work. It seemed to work in his favour though, he was clearly in a very hands-on career, and upon informing a small group of women that he was an engineer, they made the obvious jokes about him being good with his hands, and he knew he was in for a winner tonight.

He layered on the charm, the girls tittering amongst themselves for a moment, and from the snippets Dean heard, they were arguing about who was going to go home with him; he smiled and knew he was blushing, flattered that he could have women behaving like that without really revealing too much of himself. In the end, the girl who broke off from the group and took a seat beside him was an alluring half-caste woman, pretty cute in Dean’s opinion, body like a goddess and a fire in her eyes, definitely what Dean was looking for right now.

“Dean,” he greeted, flagging the barman down and ordering them both drinks,

“Cassie,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes, Dean laughed softly, barely discernible as a laugh really,

“Well it’s very nice to meet you,” he smiled, “So tell me, how’d you win?”

“Who said I won? I might have lost horrifically,” she quipped, accepting the drink Dean had bought for her,

“Haha, you probably did, only one way to find out though,” he offered a wink at that, it was probably a long shot, since they’d barely even exchanged names, but Cassie surprised him, downing her drink and slamming the glass on the table,

“I guess there is, your place or mine?” Dean could definitely roll with that,

“Mine’s close, five, ten minute walk, tops,” he said, and Cassie’s smile grew, her posture changed and she was very much his for the evening.

They had barely even entered the apartment building before it all kicked off, hands were everywhere, kisses were messy, and Dean was pretty sure that, had they not been alone, someone would have gotten a brilliant view of Cassie’s thong, courtesy of Dean’s wandering hands. The elevator was a risky spot, Cassie pinning Dean to the wall with her body, untying the sleeves of his coveralls, eager to get a hand inside, her other pulling his t-shirt up, raking her nails up his back. He shivered at the feeling, smirking into her mouth and pushing his hands back up beneath her short dress, groping and baring her to the empty elevator, there was a ping and he pushed her back, thankful she had only really loosened the knot as he backed her towards his apartment. Their kiss stopped long enough for Dean to type in the code, Cassie not stopping entirely though, kissing down his neck and biting at his throat, reminding Dean that this wasn’t going to be anything near the quietest sex of his life, hell if he played it right it could be the loudest.

The door slid open but they remained pressed against the wall, Cassie lifting herself up and wrapping her legs around his waist, Dean’s hands holding her ass for support as they kissed messily, Cassie determined to shred his back before they even got inside. He was hazy eyed and she was slipping down him slightly when they parted, Dean biting his lip and smirking at her before guiding her inside, the door sliding shut behind them. He didn’t even acknowledge the presence on the couch, a confused look sent his way as he backed Cassie into yet another wall, his coveralls being shoved down his thighs by one of her legs, her hands sliding down to push his boxers down a fraction too.

Castiel stayed silent from where he sat on the couch, he had been confused when the door had slid open but nobody was there, close to getting up and investigating when a strange woman reversed through, her dress hitched up and just about everything below the waist on display. Dean’s presence made him relax a little but he was still uneasy, it didn’t seem right that this woman was gratifying Dean, but he didn’t have the voice to speak up, watching as she was pushed against the far wall, led towards the door to Dean’s bedroom as she shoved Dean’s clothes off as much as she could. Dean was close to naked well before she was, and he was quite happy to kick his boots off whilst he pinned her, his coveralls slipping further down and his boxers shoved half way down his thighs, thin red lines tracking over the skin of his ass. He couldn’t help but watch, torn between arousal and dismay, settling on the latter when Dean and his friend vanished into the bedroom, not even bothering to shut the door.

Somewhere between Dean leading her through the door and them reaching the bed, their positions reversed, leaving Dean to fall back onto the bed, Cassie crawling over him, straddling his midriff and lifting her dress up and off, leaving her in her bra, which left her at a disadvantage clothing wise. She restored the balance, yanking Dean’s t-shirt up over his head, tossing it aside before raking her nails down his chest.

“Oh fuck,” Dean hissed, hands coming up to touch her back, fingers dragging down and around to her hips, admiring her body as she sat up to unclasp her bra, “God damn you’re hot,” he murmured, pulling her down into a kiss, loving the feel of her curvaceous body against his, reminding him how much he’d missed this in so short a time. He continued to whisper praise as his hands roamed over her body, eyes following his fingers as they dipped under the curve of her bosom, down her stomach and towards her sex. He hesitated though, fingers lingering near her muff, shifting to the crease of her thigh as he licked his lips, a thought crossing his mind. He moved both hands to her hips, lifting and easing her to the side, shifting so he could pin her on her back,

“Hey,” she protested softly, no conviction in her words.

“You’ll like this more, trust me,” he grinned, easing himself down her body, thankful they were already part way down the bed, kissing her navel, the jut of her pelvis, pushing her leg slightly so he could kiss the hot skin at the join of her thigh. He glanced up to see her propping herself on her elbows, an intrigued look on her face, as if a man had never just offered to go down on her without her pushing, but Dean loved it, “you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against her inner thigh, looking up at her and pressing a light kiss to the skin. He had rushed to get here, he’d admit that, he had pushed a little and Cassie hadn’t objected to the direction he was headed, so he figured the overall compliments could be fewer, that she trusted he knew what he was doing and didn’t need a confidence boost because his attentions would be enough.

But now he was there, kneeling on the floor with her cunt clearly on display for him, he could take all the time he wanted, admiring this woman’s pussy, in his eyes as unique as a fingerprint; he stroked her thighs gently before using his thumbs to ease her lips apart, running his tongue over them and feeling the way she tensed, the shiver that ran through her body sending signals straight to Dean’s half-hard dick. He began to tease, kissing and licking the area around her pussy, brushing a feather light kiss to her slit and pulling away, winding her up like a tight coil, tongue and lips tracing patterns, drawing out breathy noises from Cassie as she tried so hard to not force herself towards his face. He smirked to himself before pressing another kiss to her slit, harder than before, pushing her lips apart with his tongue, his hands moving to her thighs, easing them further apart so he could access her better. He began to fuck her gently with his tongue, drawing out sinful noises, the woman he was pleasuring proving to be as vocal and appreciative as he’d anticipated, and god she tasted _divine_ , her juices mingling with the taste of her lips and skin. He opened his eyes, vision hazy from the euphoria he felt pleasuring her, pulling his tongue back to lick at his lips, smirking before he pressed the flat of his tongue to her gently convulsing slit, dragging it upwards and over the now only slightly hooded clit. He used the fingers of one hand to push her lips apart again, teasing the hooded flesh before taking it into his mouth and driving her crazy. His fingers traced down through her wetness, slicking up before easing into her slit, finger-fucking her whilst he brought her closer and closer to orgasm.

The noises she made were feral and wanton, stirring Dean’s arousal up, his dick a needy weight between his legs, thus far untouched, his hands too preoccupied with Cassie’s hips and fucking her to the rhythm she set herself with every movement. Her vocalisations soon changed, words no longer tumbling from her mouth, just panting, a soft, repetitive noise that carried through the room as she began to tremble, arching off of the bed, hands struggling to find somewhere to go, one settling for touching her fingers lightly to the top of Dean’s head, barely even scraping through his hair. She cried out in orgasm, vibrations humming through her as Dean stayed his ground, the attentions of his tongue and fingers softening, guiding her through the aftershocks in her body, wary of her sensitivity. He felt her sag slightly on the bed, breathing quieting enough for him to consider shifting so he was no longer leaning on the mattress, instead kneeling and leaning on the footboard, appreciating the view.

He wiped his mouth and continued to watch her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her body trembled with each breath, reminding him he simply should not be where he was, he should be with her, bringing her back down, ready for another bout of fun. On that note, he pushed himself up, leaning on the bed and pressing a feather light kiss to her inner thigh before shifting away, pushing his boxers down from where they had pushed up beneath his dick, then taking them off completely, soon fully naked as he strolled into the bathroom. He stroked himself lazily as he grabbed a box from the medicine cabinet, ambling back into the bedroom a moment later, reading the back of it as he stood beside the bed, Cassie looking up at him curiously,

“You… have gotta be kidding me,” she panted, “not yet,” she said, Dean looking over the top of the box at her,

“Hm? Not for now, didn’t want to spoil the mood later by running off,” he shrugged, opening the box and pouring a string of foil wrapped condoms out into a dish beside his lamp, tossing the box aside before he stretched out on the bed beside her. He left himself alone for a while, stroking his fingers across her dark skin, a glorious contrast to his own fading tan, “You’re beautiful…” he whispered after a long while, Cassie chuckling at him and rolling onto her side, facing him and moving a hand to his chest, trailing her fingers down across his abs, moving to his hip and following the V there to his slowly softening cock.

“I’ll show you beautiful,” and she did, pushing him onto his back and stroking him until he was heavy and hard in her hand, kissing a few scratches on his chest and following the route her hand had taken. A flood of compliments fell from his lips as she stroked and sucked him, though as she ran her tongue along the faint ridge at the underside of the head, he let out a quiet ‘Cas…’ between breaths before falling back and trying to keep his body under control.

He wove his fingers through her thick, curly hair, stroking, trying not to tug at it as she drove him closer to orgasm, pumping her hand and bobbing her head,

“Fuck tell me you’re ready,” he gasped, bending his leg slightly, keeping his hips from doing anything more than very small thrusts. His answer came when the wet heat around his cock slipped away, a warm hand stroking him a few times as Cassie shifted up his body; he reached to the bowl on the bedside table and held a packet to her, watching her carefully tear it open with her teeth, biting his lip at how hot he found that.

She was naked astride him as she looked over her shoulder, rolling the condom down his slick length where Dean couldn’t see, but the sensation made his hips buck a little, a built in reaction from knowing what was to come. He wanted to offer his fingers to her, but Cassie seemed content to hover over his abdomen, her fingers pushing into herself, stretching herself ready for him. Dean’s hands found her hips instead, watching her expression for any signs of discomfort, because sure, he wanted to fuck her, but he didn’t want her uncomfortable,

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked as her fingers slipped away and she lowered herself until the head pressed faintly against her slit,

“you truly are one in a million,” she said, a wave of pleasure slipping over her as she lowered herself enough for the head to give pressure, to hold her slit open itself, leaving her fingers free to brush over Dean’s lips, offering a taste she already knew he liked. He went to lick at her fingers, the effort torn from him as Cassie lowered herself onto his prick, taking the head and a few inches in without much more than a gasp and a shudder. She was tight, a glorious convulsing heat around his dick that made him swear he was fucking heaven, not just a beautiful woman.

It wasn’t long before they’d set a pace, but Dean didn’t want to be passive here, shifting their positions, fucking her and praising her as she clawed at his back, grasp so tight she was lifting herself off of the bed. She was incredibly vocal in her instructing, and Dean loved the input, encouraged it even, since a girl was likely to know what she wanted better than he was, so when her words slurred into a long, drawn out moan, he knew she had positioned him at the perfect angle to brush repeatedly against her g-spot. He paced himself with her breathing, panting, and moaning, drawing himself ever closer with her, his arms bracing his weight as she clung to him, bucking against him as he thrust deeply into her. He shivered as her nails scraped across his back again, hissing at the glorious feel of it, feeling the heat building up within him, he was so damned ready to come, and from the way she was shouting his name in pleasure, he was thinking she was getting there too.

His own slight noise dropped to near silence as he came, dropping his head against Cassie’s shoulder, still pumping his hips despite the sensitivity he felt during and after orgasm, his breathing was shaky and his muscles were protesting about keeping him up, about moving after such bliss, but he ignored them, listening to Cassie as she cried out, clung on, and trembled with the sheer power of her second orgasm of the evening.

“Oh my god…” she panted as Dean pulled from within her, shifting to the side and lying down; he was starting to feel the sting in his back, ignoring it easily enough as he sluggishly disposed of his condom, using his t-shirt for a rudimentary clean up before rolling onto his side, quite happy to call it a night then and there. Cassie had the same idea, leaving him well alone as she shifted under the covers and drifted off.

Dean woke up before Cassie, but didn’t say a thing when she got up and began dressing herself, ready to let herself out; it made things easier for him if he were honest, he didn’t like the awkward offer of breakfast, the sharing of her walk of shame. Instead he watched silently as she left the room, admiring the view when she bent to pick her panties up from the floor just before the closed door.

She was out of the bedroom and pulling her underwear up past her boots, freezing about mid-thigh when she saw a pair of eyes watching her over the back of the couch, the eyes widened before the head ducked out of view and the cushions lining the back of the couch dipped. Cassie shimmied her pants up quickly and walked briskly towards the door, running a hand through her mane of curly hair as she glanced to the couch, seeing the man trying to merge with the cushions, but not saying anything to him. It was awkward enough just leaving, the fact that there may have been someone else in the apartment when they’d had sex just didn’t bear thinking about, not to mention the fact that the door hadn’t been closed when they’d fallen into bed. She shuddered at the thought, turning and letting herself out, thinking that despite that potentially awkward thought of what the two men would do once she was completely gone, that night was well worth threatening to embarrass her friends over.

Dean was beyond thrilled with the outcome of last night, his back was a little sore and a few muscles he forgot he had were having miniature bitch-fits beneath his skin, but he had won the crazy sex lotto, he was completely blissed out and very confident he’d made good of asserting his heterosexuality to the world. He couldn’t move though, didn’t want to either, his limbs were heavy and he honestly felt like he didn’t have anything to do, so staying in bed until his stomach started vocalising seemed like a pretty damned good idea.

Castiel was still trying to become one with the couch when Dean finally staggered from the bedroom, plucking his coveralls from the floor and pushing his boots against the wall with his foot. He headed for the kitchenette, tossing the coveralls by the washing machine as he set about brewing a pot of coffee, Castiel watching him from where he sat on the couch, brows knitted together in concern over the crosshatching of thin cuts that spanned his shoulder blades, not entirely sure how one woman could have done all that damage.

Dean didn’t acknowledge him until he was sat beside him, mostly bare thigh touching Castiel’s jean clad one, a cup of coffee in his hand,

“Morning buddy,” he beamed, tired eyed but absolutely vibrant and intoxicating, Castiel couldn’t help but stare, even if all it did was remind him of the awful noises he’d heard last night,

“Good morning…” he answered quietly, Dean soon giving him an odd look.

“You okay?” he asked, “you’re kinda disappearing into the couch,” he chuckled, Castiel letting out a huff of a noise,

“That was my intent…” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, trying not to look at Dean now that he’d noticed there was a scratch or two on his front too, he was starting to think Dean had been attacked, and it wasn’t just the encounter he’d had with that woman. From the look Dean was giving him, he could see the man clearly didn’t understand why Castiel was trying to vanish, “I witnessed your… girlfriend… dressing herself… I believe it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us,”

“Not my girlfriend,” Dean shrugged, not at all bothered that Castiel had witnessed the walk of shame, however it did occur to him that he’d disregarded any decency towards the Synthetic, “So… I guess I was pretty loud last night, huh?” he asked, voice dropping slightly,

“You? No… _her_ vocalisations however… I believe you satisfied her quite thoroughly… perhaps repeatedly… I’m not sure…”

“Hell yeah I did,” he grinned, wiggling in his seat, “fucked her brains out,” Castiel gave him a slight look of disgust, the mental visualisation quite disturbing,

“I’m amazed she could walk,” he said, wondering how motor skills could function in one without a brain. Dean took this completely the wrong way, cackling to himself as he sipped at his coffee, quite proud of his work,

“Man, you’re awesome,” he chuckled, “know how to give a guy an ego, huh?”

“What?” Dean just shrugged in response, slouching until he was sat quite like Castiel, his mug resting on his chest, the heat of it not being that much of a concern, he was quite happy to take this opportunity to chill out on the couch with a guy he could probably consider his best friend by now, in a world where best friends tried to suck your dick the day after meeting you. He bit his lip a little, trying to get that mental image out of his head, it wasn’t working though, so he let out a whine of a noise and turned his head to Castiel,

“Why’d she have to go leave?” he asked, Castiel’s look clearly saying that he was not the one to ask, they stared at each other for a few seconds before Castiel blushed and looked away, Dean sighing and returning his attention to his coffee. In that short moment of eye contact all he’d seen was Castiel looking up at him from between his legs, which made him seriously wish he’d got Cassie’s number.


	8. Chapter 8

The two of them didn’t actually move much that day, Dean occasionally getting up to go to the bathroom or grab another coffee, but he always returned, slouching next to Castiel. He had put the movie representations of the Tolkien books on, just as something to do whilst they did nothing. Castiel warmed to the idea of doing nothing, propping his feet on the coffee table and making himself more comfortable, just happy to have Dean to himself all day for once, even if he _did_ spend the whole time in his underwear, scratches on display and smelling faintly of sex.

Castiel cast glances to Dean throughout the movies, enjoying their proximity, especially when Dean wrapped his arm loosely around Castiel’s shoulders, allowing the Synthetic to lean on him slightly.

“This is nice,” Castiel disclosed quietly, trying subtly to wriggle closer,

“Best films man, best films,” Dean agreed, though he was agreeing with something entirely different; Castiel was just happy to be pressed up against Dean’s bare side, holding his own arm just so his fingers could brush against Dean’s bare ribs.

Dean didn’t even react much to Castiel nuzzling his head against his shoulder, making himself comfortable by pushing his face against the muscle joining shoulder to neck, he simply watched the films, engrossed in the beauty of the old techniques, experiencing some serious nostalgia over the whole thing even though he hadn’t been born when they were made.

All in all, Castiel enjoyed pressing himself to Dean as much as Dean would let him, even dozed off, head lolling onto Dean’s chest, allowing him to listen to and feel the rise and fall of his chest, his heart pumping slowly and steadily, calm and relaxed.

Dean didn’t much mind the way Castiel rested on him, though as the hours rolled by he couldn’t help but feel like he was making a mistake somewhere, like maybe this should bother him somehow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Having someone under his arm, leaning on him and depending on him felt good, he missed it, missed it from Sammy, missed it from his last relationship, though thinking about that made him uncomfortable, uncomfortable enough to try and shift away. As he moved, Castiel shifted closer, curling his fingers against his chest before splaying them out, making Dean shiver; he wanted to wake him up, to shove him away, anything to stop him from shifting from Sam-like to girlfriend-like.

He was thrilled by the light knocking on the door, moving Castiel off of him as gently as he could, watching as he folded himself up on the couch, drawing his knees in and resting his head on his arm. He had a quick thought to pull a blanket over him before heading to the door, only letting it open a crack until he saw who it was, letting it slide open fully and leaning in the doorway, completely on display.

“Hi there,” his voice was hushed as he spoke, Cassie looking him over appreciatively before looking to his face,

“Wow… I uh… sorry about that,” she gestured at the scratches on his chest,

“You should see my back,” he winked, “so… what brings you back here? Can’t get enough of me?” he was joking, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have objected to taking her to bed again,

“Actually I think I left my phone here,” Dean frowned at that, not entirely sure how she’d managed that, since she didn’t even have a bag when he’d brought her home, he’d assumed she’d left it with a friend.

“Uh… come on in… just… be quiet would you?” he asked, stepping aside, she gave him an odd look before she noticed Castiel, seeing him curled up on the couch,

“Is he here often?” She asked quietly, Dean following her to the bedroom,

“He lives here,” Dean admitted, not entirely sure how weird that would sound,

“In a one bedroom apartment?” she was crouched down on the floor of Dean’s room, the jeans she was wearing tightening quite nicely around her hips and ass, Dean couldn’t help but look, “You guys aren’t like… you know… you don’t bring people home to spice up your relationship or something do you?”

“Rela… no we’re not… the couch is a pull out,” Dean explained, laughing nervously, not at all liking the idea of someone thinking he and Castiel were in a relationship, especially not after how Castiel had acted _in his sleep_.

“Oh thank god,” Dean didn’t know whether to think she liked him or she was just relieved he wasn’t a freak, “found it!” she said triumphantly, holding a very narrow tube up, looking over her shoulder at him. She noticed the confused look on his face and pressed something on the one side, the tube opening up like a pocket knife,

“That’s tiny,” Dean stated,

“It’s part of my bra, pretty handy for a girl who doesn’t want to carry a bag around,”

“Not so much for a girl who wants to throw her bra around though,” Dean quipped, watching Cassie stand up, chuckling to herself before she stepped closer to him.

“So now I know you and blue eyes aren’t a thing, what say I give you my number and we do this again,”

“What say I get dressed and take you to dinner instead?” Dean was, to say the least, shocked by the words that tumbled from his mouth, he hadn’t asked a woman to dinner in… fuck it had been _years_ , so why the hell was he doing it now? Cassie looked just as surprised as he did,

“You know, that sounds nice,” she said, blushing and looking down at herself, smoothing her hands over her low cut blouse, a slightly higher cut tee underneath, “I guess I look okay…” she trailed off a little, sounding unsure,

“You look _hot_ ,” Dean murmured, getting closer and resting his hands on her hips, kissing her hotly, not expecting her to reciprocate quite so eagerly, her hands roaming down his back and grabbing a hold of his ass, nails biting into the flesh. After some serious groping Dean managed to push her away, “Are we doing this?” he asked, looking to the bed, then back to Cassie, who gave him a wicked look,

“Could forgo the dinner,” she said with a wink, hands now on his hips. Dean glanced to the door,

“I’d love to, I mean, _really_ love to, but my roommate…” he trailed off, “I can’t do that to him again,” he laughed, Cassie laughing softly with him,

“So he _was_ here…” she mumbled,

“I didn’t realise,” it was a lie, Castiel didn’t go anywhere if Dean wasn’t there, “awkward conversation,” a half-truth, he was getting better at this, since lies weren’t the best way to start… whatever this was… it was making him nervous, excitement thrumming beneath his skin.

“Then get your fine ass dressed,” she purred, moving closer and giving him another squeeze, Dean obeyed quite happily, after he stole another kiss, Cassie biting his lip playfully before backing off, sucking in a breath at the sight of the scratches littering Dean’s back.

“What?” Dean asked, smirking over his shoulder even as he pulled some clothes out of his wardrobe,

“Just admiring my handiwork,” Cassie chuckled, watching Dean pull on a pair of jeans and a loose white t-shirt, simple yet presentable, some combat boots completing his attire.

Dean stopped in the lounge as they went to leave, finding a scrap of paper and writing a note to Castiel, telling him not to wait up; he left it on top of the Synthetic’s latest book, hoping it would be in plain view as he grabbed his phone and followed Cassie out the door.

 

As it turned out, Castiel had apparently not found his note, which was why at two in the morning, whilst Dean was watching the muscles in Cassie’s back shift with every move she made to impale herself on him, Dean’s phone began to ring. He ignored it at first, keeping his hands on her hips, watching himself disappear into her glorious wet heat, the sight alone would be enough to get him off, the feeling was driving him insane. The phone grew incessant and he reached over, rejecting the call before pushing himself up onto his elbows, rolling his hips beneath Cassie, listening to the cries of pleasure she let out, both of them content in the knowledge that nobody could hear them, alone in Cassie’s house.

The eighth time it rang, Cassie leant forwards and let out a ragged noise of frustration, “just answer the fucking phone,” she snapped, pulling off of him completely, sitting down the bed between his legs, watching with an irritated look on her face as Dean fell down onto his back and reached out again.

“What?” he asked as he answered,

“Why aren’t you here?” it was Castiel, and much to Dean’s annoyance, the Synthetic sounded like he was panicking,

“Cas? For fuck’s sake man, I left a note,” he went pretty limp, “What do you want?”

“You’re supposed to be here, why aren’t you here?”

“I’m not _supposed_ to be anywhere man, is something wrong? You burn the house down? Why is it so urgent that I need to be there,” he asked, rubbing his face, wishing Castiel would just get a grip, he didn’t understand why there was an issue here.

“I don’t want to be alone… Dean I’m scared,” That stumped him really, Castiel was _scared_ , he _sounded_ scared, it made Dean pause, a guilty look crossing his face,

“Sca… you’re scared? Cas has something happened?” he sat up then, drawing his legs to himself and crossing them, Cassie not pleased with this at all, moving closer and reaching out, stroking Dean’s softening dick, trying to distract him from the Synthetic on the phone. She was surprised when Dean stopped her, moving to swing his legs off of the bed, sat slightly hunched over as he listened to Castiel panicking,

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered into the phone, voice sounding strained, it was worrying Dean, “I understand you must be busy if you are not home… but I can hear people outside… I am scared…” his voice had fallen immensely quiet, Dean was struggling to hear,

“I’ll be back in about half an hour, you gonna be okay?” he trapped the phone between his shoulder and ear, picking his underwear up off the floor and pulling them on as he stood,

“Woah Dean where are you going?” Cassie asked, pushing off of the bed and moving into his way, completely naked, pressing up against him as emphasis,

“Cassie I gotta go, I’m sorry,” Dean apologised, “Cas I’ll stay on the line okay?” there was a quiet noise to signify he was okay with that, and Dean readjusted his hold on the phone in order to hunt for his jeans,

“Seriously? He’s a grown man, what’s he scared of?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answered her, placing the phone down to pull his jeans on, then his t-shirt. He snatched the phone up when he heard a raised voice, “Yeah I’m here, don’t panic,”

“Tell him to grow up,” she said dismissively, Dean pressing the phone to his chest and turning back to Cassie,

“Cassie he’s not like other guys, okay?” he hissed at her, Cassie giving him a sceptical look,

“Thought you two _weren’t_ fucking…” she muttered,

“Cassie I really like you, please don’t make me change my mind,” he grimaced, “Cas he’s… he’s not as… up to speed I guess…”

“Oh…” Cassie sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling some sheets around herself, looking downright ashamed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” she adjusted the sheets so they wouldn’t slip, standing up and finding her clothes. “I’ll come with you,” she said,

“You sure about that? He’s not too great with strangers,” Dean mumbled, lifting the phone to his ear, “You alright there?” he asked,

“Why aren’t you coming?” Castiel asked, voice a whimper, Dean was getting seriously worried about the way Castiel sounded, frantic and terrified, he was starting to feel like a total ass for leaving him alone like this.

“I’m sorry Cas, I’ll be there soon,” he promised, slipping his boots on and heading for the door, Cassie jogging after him, now in a pair of loose jeans and a long sleeved white t-shirt and a thin pink shirt, stepping into a pair of pumps by the door.

“Well I look like shit, but I’m definitely coming with you,” she said, the two leaving her home together, locking the old looking house up and walking briskly to the nearest tram.

Dean continued to talk to Castiel as they rode the tram, Cassie sat next to him, holding his thigh and reassuring him that Castiel was okay; he liked the reassurance, his fingers drumming on his thigh close to hers, grazing before inching away. It didn’t take long before they’d arrived, though the walk back to Dean’s apartment meant they were running a little late.

“Cas I’m almost there okay,” a quiet noise, “come on, you’ve got to work with me here, just stay calm,” he was still speaking to him as he unlocked the door, it sliding open with a hiss, an echo of Castiel startling coming from both the lounge and the phone. Castiel rushed toward him, falling short when he saw Cassie, looking between them, eyes unsure,

“Why is she…” Castiel let out, biting his tongue, realising this was bad.

“Cas what’s wrong?” Dean asked, rushing into his space, holding his shoulders and trying to look into his eyes, to try and see what was wrong,

“I… I…” he let out, glancing over at Cassie, who stood looking concerned near the door, wanting to help but unsure what to do now she was here. “I only wanted you…” Castiel whispered, Dean frowning at him,

“What?” he asked,

“I only wanted you…” Castiel muttered again, shying away, which made Dean more confused,

“Cas what do you mean?” he asked, moving closer to the Synthetic, reaching out to him,

“Nothing… I’m sorry… Please don’t be mad,” which implied Dean had something to be mad about, making him suspicious enough to grab the Synthetic’s arm and lead him across the room, away from Cassie.

“What the hell Cas? Why did you call me back here?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder at Cassie, trying to assure himself she wasn’t listening in, “I was kinda in the middle of something,” he added, “You call me freaking out because you don’t want to be alone, because you think there are people outside,” Castiel was trying not to look at him, “Were you even scared, or were you just trying to interrupt me and Cassie,”

“It’s not fair,” Castiel hissed, yanking his arm from Dean’s grasp and scowling past him at Cassie,

“What’s not fair?” Dean frowned, Castiel looking between Dean and Cassie before narrowing his eyes at her,

“Her, she’s not fair,” he insisted, “Why does she…” he trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself, scarily human and fragile and God was he _jealous_?

“Cas what? Why does she what?”

“Why does _she_ get to pleasure you? _I_ wan—“ Dean slapped a hand over Castiel’s mouth then, Castiel having been in the process of raising his voice,

“No,” Dean said, “no you can’t just… fuck Cas you can’t just call dibs, that’s not how this works,”

“But…”

“No Cas, I said I didn’t want _you_ , I didn’t want _Castiel_ , that doesn’t mean I don’t want anybody, _just you_ ,” the look on Castiel’s face should have shut him up, the sheer horror and anguish that crossed through the Synthetic’s eyes was nauseatingly sad.

“Okay…” Castiel said, eyes shimmering, his expression falling to one of despondence, that vacant expression he’d seen before, when he had been telling Steve he didn’t want this thing. He couldn’t bring himself to take it back now though, too pissed off with the fact that Castiel was trying to sabotage things between him and Cassie before they’d even really started.

Castiel moved away from him, passing him and perching on one of the stools at the counter, staring blankly down at the counter,

“Should I go?” Cassie asked, Dean looking over at her and shrugging,

“Do what you want, I’m going to bed,” he said dismissively, “Since someone’s wasted my fucking time today,” he huffed, looking at Castiel accusingly, but Castiel didn’t move, didn’t flinch, hell he didn’t even _blink_.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cassie frowned at him, not having heard their conversation exactly, Dean just looked at her for a moment before sighing, finding it hard to believe that _she_ was being the empathetic one when Castiel had basically thrown his rag out because Dean didn’t want to sleep with him.

 

Cassie stayed the night, curled up against Dean’s side in the bed, though when she got up in the morning to find Castiel still sat staring at the counter, she had grown concerned, approaching him slowly and resting a hand on his back.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” she asked quietly, not getting a response from the Synthetic, not even aware he _was_ one, “Cas?” she tried again, this time earning a reaction, though it was a worrying one. He turned his head slowly, a dark oily residue beneath his narrowed eyes as he regarded her disdainfully,

“Castiel,” he said, turning away from her again, wiping his face sullenly as Dean emerged from the bedroom in his jeans,

“Cassie?” they both turned, Castiel looking disappointed when he realised it wasn’t him being spoken to, but moving off of his chair anyway, easing past Cassie and heading for Dean, the man stiffening uncomfortably as Castiel reached out and touched his chest hesitantly.

“I’m sorry…” he said, “I don’t… I don’t really understand what this is…” he murmured, Dean looking over to Cassie before making a decision,

“Cassie just… make yourself comfortable, I need to talk to Cas in private,” he said, noticing the odd way she looked at him, but figuring he could explain Castiel’s weird intimacy later. He led Castiel into the bedroom and sat him down, sitting next to him and resting a hand on his shoulder,

“Dean I’m sorry,” Castiel apologised again, shying away from Dean’s touch, “I don’t understand…”

“Cas shut up,” Dean said, Castiel looking at him, expression alarmed, but he stayed silent, “This thing you’re feeling,” he started, “you’re angry, at me?”

“No!” Castiel blurted, covering his mouth after he’d spoken,

“You’re angry at Cassie?” Castiel looked stubborn then, turning his head away and folding his arms across his chest, “God damn it Cas, you can’t just… Cas I _like_ her,” he hadn’t known her long but there was definitely something there, at least sexually, and he kind of wanted to keep her around, but with Castiel acting like a jealous little child, it would make things difficult.

“I don’t…”

“I’ve noticed, what with you being _jealous_ , Cas,” Castiel looked confused, unfolding his arms and looking guiltily at the floor,

“Is that what… what I feel?” he asked, looking up to Dean shyly,

“Sure as hell sounds like it,” Dean sighed, “Cas you’ve gotta get past this,”

“But you’re my owner… you’re supposed to love me…” Castiel muttered, the words made Dean feel uncomfortable,

“Cas I’m not your owner, just cause we haven’t heard from whoever ordered you, doesn’t mean I suddenly own you,”

“Well he doesn’t want me anymore,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean reached out to him again, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and pulling him in,

“He doesn’t deserve you then, but here? Us? We’re friends, alright? You’re not my pet, you’re my friend, my roommate, the guy my… Cassie thinks is a little bit simple,” he chuckled, Castiel leaning into him miserably, “But I swear to god, if you ever pull that shit again, I will not go nearly as easy on you,” he warned, though his voice was soft and he was half-joking, but he really didn’t want to keep worrying about leaving Castiel on his own, and he certainly didn’t want to subject him to the noises he and Cassie made when together. He missed the flinch, the way Castiel gave him a scared little look, instead he gave Castiel’s shoulder another squeeze before moving away; he pushed Castiel’s hand slightly when the Synthetic reached out to him, it wasn’t a deterrent, just a touch, Castiel dropping his hand and watching as Dean got up and left.

There wasn’t a repeat over the next week, Castiel kept out of Dean and Cassie’s way, and Dean made sure to give Castiel some of his time as well, dragging the Synthetic to work with him, spending his morning off with the Synthetic and watching movies, it wasn’t eventful, but it was enough. Castiel seemed content with the attention, he hadn’t quite warmed to Cassie, but she brushed off his dismissive tone with ease, trying to make this work.

Dean had taken Cassie out to dinner twice during the week, both times they returned to Dean’s apartment, being considerably quieter this time round, but Castiel noticed the new scratches when Dean paraded around in his underwear, they were focussed on his back though.

It was Monday morning, Cassie had left already and Dean had just showered and was pulling on his boxers and coveralls when an abhorrent buzzing hummed throughout the house, followed by a smash, at first he thought something was wrong with Castiel, tying the sleeves of his coveralls around his waist hastily and rushing to the lounge. Castiel was stood staring at the front door, a look of alarm on his face as he stood, an empty cup dangling from his fingers, the other in pieces on the floor,

“Cas?” the buzzing started up again and Castiel flinched, “Seriously? You still freak out about the doorbell?” he asked,

“It’s… it grates on me…” Castiel said lamely, ducking down to pick up the fragments of his dropped mug, Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the door. He scanned two of his fingers on the module and the door slid open with a groan, he really needed to check that; he moved into the doorway going from smiling to shocked when he saw his behemoth of a brother stood looking through one of his bags, the tall individual not yet aware that Dean had answered.

“Shit.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last finished chapter I have, I don't know when I'll write more, I'm looking through it now, but I really should get another chapter of BNooS out before I focus on this again.

Sam looked up at Dean then, frowning at him but smiling at the same time, the expression turning out a little sceptical looking, “Not exactly how I’d expected to be greeted, but okay,” he said slowly. Dean felt like he was underwater, at least that’s how Sam sounded to him, like his words had to break through a liquid barrier just to reach his ears; he’d completely forgotten that Sam was coming over, completely forgotten, he hadn’t even booked the week off. His mind was reeling, berating his stupidity and forgetfulness, thorough in its methods of telling Dean that yes, Sam was here and he’d forgotten about it, and trying to find the right time to tell his little brother that he was rooming with a top of the market Synth that verged on being a _prototype_ had been a stupid venture from the start, when the hell is the right time to tell someone that?

“Hey! Sammy!” Dean greeted abruptly, “you’re here!”

“You’re ready for work…” Sam sighed, Dean looking down at himself, he wasn’t _quite_ ready for work, he was wearing half of his coveralls and needed a vest or something, “Tell me you’ve only forgotten it was this week and that you didn’t forget to book the time off…” A guilty look crossed Dean’s face and the taller Winchester let out a sigh,

“Man I am _so_ sorry, I just… something uh… something came up…” he avoided his brother’s gaze, seriously not wanting to discuss the Synthetic Sam would soon find disposing of broken crockery in his kitchen, a stupid voice in his head suggesting that if they stand there long enough, Sam would get bored and walk away.

Contrary to several years of ridicule, Sam Winchester was not the moose people accused him of being, so standing your ground and looking uninteresting wouldn’t make him amble off into the trees, instead he would just grow more and more irate, increasing the animosity of his infamous bitch-face until Dean stepped aside.

“Can I come in?” he said finally, “I mean, as much as I love this hallway, I’d rather be in your apartment, working out _how_ you managed to forget I was coming over _again_.” Sam said pointedly, Dean cowed and shifted out of the way, grabbing one of Sam’s bags and hefting it into his apartment, dumping it rather carelessly in the closet near the door, “Dean!” Sam berated, Dean not really acknowledging him, too busy searching for Castiel with a quick glance around the main room. There was no sign of him, but Dean glanced to the bedroom door and saw a faint blue light grow larger before vanishing behind the doorframe, well at least the Synthetic’s crippling shyness was proving advantageous for once. “There are only two things I know of that distract you enough to forget about my visits, and going on the fact that you’re up and about, and not in the hospital like last time,” The last time, Dean’s appendix had burst and he hadn’t wanted to bother Sam with it, so when Sam had shown up expecting to find Dean at home, nobody had answered, and when he’d asked his brother’s employer, he’d been told his brother was rushed to hospital a week prior. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” when Sam said ‘woman’, he did not mean one of the innumerable women Dean had brought to bed with him since his dickishness evolved into charm, he meant a girlfriend. Dean’s expression darkened at that, taking it as more of an accusation than something positive, regardless of how he thought things were going between Cassie and himself,

“No.” he said firmly, walking by the bedroom door and toward the kitchenette, sliding the door closed as he went, a mistake on his part as Sam grew suspicious.

“Dean, you’re covered in scratches,” Sam informed him, “Is she still here?” he asked, voice hushed slightly,

“Sam, there’s no woman,” Dean said,

“In that case you won’t mind me going through to the bathroom,” Sam said, heading for the bedroom door a little quicker than necessary. Dean bounded back and grabbed Sam’s wrist, stopping him from opening the door, “Aha! You’re lying!” his expression was triumphant as he went about trying to work his wrist from Dean’s grasp,

“Damn it Sam, just sit your ass down so I can make you a coffee,” Dean tried, knowing it was pretty useless when a tussle began.

Dean attempted to grapple Sam away from the door, but the rat bastard had been working out in his absence, a lot more muscular than his older brother as he forcefully shoved him away from the door. Sam didn’t go through though, he wasn’t an idiot, the last thing he wanted to do was to stumble messily into a room hiding Dean’s new girlfriend; he smoothed out his t-shirt and jacket, knocking lightly on the door,

“Hey, I’m just coming through to use the bathroom, don’t freak out,” he called out, glancing over to Dean the whole while.

“Sam… don’t…” he pleaded, knowing Sam was just finding an excuse to meet whoever he was hiding, Sam ignored him and slid the door open, stepping in and pausing,

“Oh…” he heard, walking to the doorway and seeing Sam gawking at Castiel, the Synthetic stood nervously by the bed, clad in clothes too big for his frame, clothes Sam probably recognised as _Dean’s_. “Uh…”

“Hello,” Castiel greeted, looking anywhere but at Sam or Dean, Dean rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed, Sam turning to look at him and the weary expression he knew was on his face.

“I uh… I didn’t realise you…” he trailed off, too dumbstruck by the fact that he’d just found a _man_ hiding in his brother’s bedroom, wearing _his brother’s_ _clothes_ as well, it was too much for him to process. “No woman huh,” he laughed nervously, “I’m gonna… bathroom… yeah,” Sam thumbed towards the open bathroom door and left Dean and Castiel standing there,

“I’m sorry,” Castiel apologised, looking unsure,

“Not your fault, come on,” Dean gestured, Castiel padding towards him on bare feet, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt as Dean rested a hand between his shoulder blades and led him from the room, “Just… go sit down, I gotta talk to Sam,” he said, rubbing at his face tiredly before returning to the bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him and finding a cotton tee to wear.

The toilet flushed and Sam emerged a few minutes later, drying his hands on his jeans, “Sam, look,”

“Dean it’s fine, I get it, something you’d probably want to tell me in person, but it’s fine, really,” Sam blurted, holding his hands up so Dean wouldn’t have to try and explain, “I’m uh… sorry if I made a fuss, I just… I wanted to meet her… _him_ … you know?” he said lamely, “He uh… seems nice I guess… didn’t say much,” Sam scuffled his shoe in the carpet, trying not to look at Dean, his gaze lingering very briefly on the bed before he remembered the scratches on Dean’s back and looked elsewhere quickly.

“Eh, he’s alright,” Dean shrugged, Sam looking at him long enough to give him a weird look, “Definitely not what I was expecting, but I was drunk, I don’t tend to make particularly awesome decisions when drunk,” he explained, Sam looking thoroughly bewildered,

“Dean, he’s only in the other room,” he said, voice hushed a little,

“Yeah I know, I put him there,” Dean untied the sleeves of his coveralls, pulling the top half on properly before shoving his hands in his pockets,

“Try not to insult him _too_ loudly,” Sam griped, Dean frowning,

“I’m not insulting him,” Dean said slowly,

“You’re making him sound like some kind of mistake,” Sam pointed out, Dean wondering why the hell Sam thought that would be offensive, Castiel _was_ a mistake, Dean had ordered a petite, beautiful woman of his personal ideal proportions, but had ended up with a five-ten guy with a mouth like a porn star and a relatively athletic build.

“He kind of _is_ , Sam,” Dean stated easily, glancing at the clock, seeing that he was probably going to be late if he didn’t head out soon, he was torn from his thoughts by a shove from his brother, “Woah hey! What the hell?!” he balked, steadying himself,

“Jeez Dean, way to be a complete _dick_ ,” Sam raised his voice, Dean gawping at him, showing he had no idea what the hell Sam’s problem was, “Seriously? I don’t know if this is because you got your heart broken, or if it’s cause you’ve slept with every woman _on_ this planet, but you can’t just _do_ that to someone,” Dean was even more confused now, wonder why the hell his love and sex lives were being pulled into question, “he’s a human being Dean, you can’t just throw him out with the trash cause you realised you don’t bat for that team!” Dean pulled a face at that, a look of miffed realisation as he clicked onto what Sam was talking about.

“Sam… Who is it you work for again?” Dean asked, Sam completely thrown by the question,

“Uh… MRE, why the hell are you asking me that? Stop changing the subject!” Sam huffed, trying to collect his thoughts,

“Cas!” Dean called, not looking away from his brother, knowing that Castiel was on his way.

The bedroom door slid open and Castiel leant in nervously, Dean looking over and smiling a little at him, which Castiel took as confirmation that he could step further into the room, “Cas, care to tell my brother where you’re from? He’s real interested,” Castiel frowned at him, perplexed as he tried to correlate what Dean was asking with what he’d overheard from the lounge, drawing a blank and figuring he’d answer instead.

“Uhm… I was… I…” Castiel stammered, unsure about telling Sam, due to Dean’s rules; he decided to say anyway, inching so he had Dean between himself and Sam, fixing his gaze on the far wall, “I was constructed at McLeod-Roman Enterprises, factory delta-four, The Aurora, India-Lima-One-Three, by Ashley Lindberg,” Castiel said, sighing when he was finished,

“He… he’s a synthetic?” Sam looked alarmed, “Jesus, you can hardly tell!” he said, looking amazed as he tried to get closer to Castiel for a better look,

“‘Sorry for calling you queer Dean,’ oh no problem Sammy, I totally have no idea why the _hell_ you thought I was banging a dude, but it’s fine, since you were so nice and apologised for it,” Dean prattled off to himself, annoyed that Sam had gone from shouting at him to super-dork in under six seconds.

“Dean can you move?” Sam asked as Castiel shifted so Dean was completely obstructing Sam’s access to him,

“Can you stop trying to touch my stuff?” Dean asked, “Back off Sam, he doesn’t like strangers,”

“Strangers? Dean I’m your _brother_ ,” Castiel gave Sam a quizzical look at that, pressing himself a little further into the corner made by the wall and a closet. Dean put himself even more in the way,

“Yeah well _he_ doesn’t understand that, so please, lounge, we can talk there,”

“Dean, you’re going to be late for work,” Castiel stated, still pressed into the corner, making himself as small as possible without actually moving, Dean sighed and wiped at his face miserably,

“I’ll call work, tell them the deal,”

“I could go for you,” Castiel suggested, he had worked with Dean a few times, had read the old textbooks Dean had crammed into his bookshelf from his college days,

“Wait, no, I want to take a look at him,” Sam said, more to Dean than Castiel, which bothered Dean slightly but he said nothing of it, just trying to get Sam out of his room so Castiel could stop freaking out in the corner.

Sam was soon in the lounge, sitting and watching as Dean coaxed Castiel out into the open again,

“A-are you sure I shouldn’t take your place? I assure you I am adequate in your trade, I have studied the texts,” he explained, looking at Sam nervously, it was becoming pretty clear that Castiel did not want to be around the younger Winchester, and Dean didn’t blame him, the way Sam looked at him was like he was another puzzle to solve, a toy to pull apart, and it made _Dean_ feel a little weird. He’d seen Castiel as something akin to human weeks ago, not really thinking ‘this is a Synthetic Humanoid, an automaton made to obey’, his thoughts were closer to ‘this is Cas, he lives here and he’s a bit weird,’ at least, that was how he would have introduced him, had his first encounter with Sam been on Dean’s terms.

He let out a sigh and plucked his phone off of the coffee table, “I need to call Bobby, you,” he pointed at Castiel, “sit, and you,” his attention turned to Sam, “I want you to keep away until the introductions are official,” he instructed, dialling work’s number and holding the phone to his ear, looking between the two men suspiciously, expecting one of them to misbehave. The phone clicked and he was greeted by a gruff voice, “Hey Bobby!” he answered, looking reluctantly at the two others in his home, “Look, about work today,”

“Your brother’s there, isn’t he?” Bobby asked,

“Uh… yeah… how’d you…”

“Sam told me he’d be visitin’, and I know what you’re like,” the aging man sighed, Dean could picture him rubbing his face in exasperation, “I booked you the time, hoped you’d come round and mention it, but I figure since Sam’ll stop you from workin’ I wouldn’t have to worry about you showing up,” he explained, “Now git and spend time with your brother,” he demanded,

“Shall do Bobby, thanks,” he was trying not to laugh as he spoke, more amused at the way Castiel relaxed as Dean stifled his laughter, watching him with that same reverence he’d had when he received his name. “Well that’s that sorted,” he smirked, shoving the phone in his pocket and clapping his hands together, “introductions then, Sammy, this is Castiel, he’s been living with me for a while now, and yeah, he’s a Synthetic, but no, I’m not screwing him,” he clarified, Sam giving him a disbelieving look, which Dean assumed was a joke in nature, “Cas, this is my little brother Sam, he works for MRE,” Castiel’s eyes widened at that, looking even more terrified of Sam now he realised where he worked, though instead of admitting he thought they were sending him away, he stated another thought.

“He is not very little,” Sam laughed at the Synthetic’s comment, Dean scowling a little,

“Shut up Cas,” he grumbled, he already knew he was shorter than his younger brother, he seriously didn’t need it spelling out to him. Castiel fell silent then, not sure if he should speak up again, but Sam’s presence was weighing heavy on his mind, he wanted to know why an employee of MRE was visiting Dean. He tried to reason that Sam couldn’t have been there to remove him, as he had not known Castiel was a Synthetic, but he was worried, scared that he would be forced to leave when he didn’t want to, he wanted to stay with Dean.

“Why is he here?” he had interrupted the brothers, too lost in his own world to realise they had been catching up, talking about what had happened since they’d last spoke, Dean explaining how Castiel had come to be in his possession, glossing over the spats with women.

“Huh?” Dean asked, looking to Castiel, who hadn’t even noticed Dean sitting down on the arm of the chair beside him,

“Why is he here?” Castiel repeated,

“Who, Sam?” Castiel nodded at that, “He’s visiting, it’s kind of what we do, visit each other, catch up, hang out,” he explained,

“He’s not here for me?” Castiel asked, voice quiet and reserved,

“Why would he…” Dean trailed off there, expression sobering when he realised, “He’s not here to take you away Cas,” he said quietly, lifting a hand and ruffling Castiel’s hair, the Synthetic looking up at him, hope in his eyes.

“Cas,”

“Castiel,” Castiel interrupted, “Dean calls me Cas,” he amended, he’d said the same thing to Cassie the second time she’d tried it, Sam nodding slowly,

“Castiel, you were built by Ash right?” Castiel nodded at that, “So you’re more advanced?” another nod, “Why do you think you’re going to get taken away?” He seemed unsure as he mentioned Castiel thinking,

“I worry…” Castiel admitted, “it is something I fear,” his voice dropped to a whisper and he looked to Dean’s thigh, moving his fingers to curl into the loose fabric of the man’s coveralls, just grounding himself,

“Worry? _Fear_?” Sam sounded amazed and uneasy all at once, “You emulate feelings?”

“No… I _have_ feelings, emotions, I’m sure of it…” he mumbled, not looking up, “I have cried,” Dean was genuinely shocked by the knowledge that Castiel had cried, wondering how he had managed to miss something like that when he spent so much time with the guy.

“That’s impossible…” Sam breathed, “there’s no way to make a technology that can _feel_ , it’s just… why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know, but they did it, and I’m sort of glad,” Dean interrupted, “Can we stop talking about this? I don’t need you picking him apart, that’s not why he’s here,” Castiel was fully on board with this idea, but Sam didn’t seem keen,

“Can I just ask one more thing?” he asked, Dean narrowing his eyes at his brother but not saying anything, giving him the chance to speak, but ready to interrupt if it was something he felt Castiel wouldn’t be able to handle, or didn’t want to hear himself. “Why are you so scared you’ll be taken away?” Dean moved his hand to Castiel’s shoulder, a reassuring gesture, through which he could feel the Synthetic stiffen uncomfortably, he wasn’t sure whether to let Castiel answer this, but really it was Castiel’s choice, he didn’t want to be the guy to tell him not to do what he wanted.

Castiel fidgeted, avoided looking at anything besides his fingers tangled in Dean’s clothes, watching them knot the fabric around, tightening it around Dean’s leg, but Dean said nothing, watching him. Sam seemed amazed by Castiel’s reaction,

“You’re pulling my leg, right? This is a joke…” he said, before Castiel could say anything, since the Synthetic didn’t seem to be opening up any time soon. At the confusion of the other two men, he elaborated, “You guys are just punking me, he’s not a Synth, is he? Synths don’t _act_ like that,” this changed Castiel’s demeanour entirely, his fingers slipped from the fabric of Dean’s coveralls and he sat up a little straighter, a curious look on his face, fascination and disbelief intermingled into one.

“Y-you… you think I’m human?” he asked, easing himself away from Dean, who watched in amazement as Castiel shuffled his way across the couch, touching Sam’s shoulder lightly; it was disconcerting to both Winchesters, but as Castiel moved closer and Sam made no move to get away, the odd, hesitant gesture turned into Castiel _hugging_ Sam, leaning awkwardly over him and wrapping his arms about his neck, “th-thank you…” Sam just sat there, he didn’t reciprocate the hug, he didn’t really know how to respond to this guy, who Dean claimed was a Synthetic, hugging him in a way that didn’t seem wholly platonic, so he gave his brother a confused look.

Dean didn’t know what it was he felt when he saw Castiel hug his brother that way, but it was uncomfortable enough for him to get to his feet and head for the kitchenette, just to avoid seeing it any longer. He clattered about as he made two cups of coffee, feeling like an idiot as he argued silently with himself, trying feebly to explain why seeing Castiel draped over Sam like that irritated him. It was kind of weird, perhaps because Castiel was grateful for what Sam had said, and Dean was used to him cowering from people, not being thankful for them, Castiel had only ever really been grateful for _him_ , had thanked Dean for simply _owning_ him. “Damn it…” he cussed, realising he was _jealous_ of all things, this wasn’t supposed to happen, he should be happy Castiel actually wants to go near someone else, takes a load off his mind, shows that Castiel isn’t just going to be doting on his every word for all eternity, he didn’t want that, he’d never been a possessive prick over a girl, he wasn’t about to be that way over a friend.

“Dean? Is everything okay?” He jumped at the sound of Castiel so near, giving him an irate look,

“Yeah, now my heart is no longer in my _mouth_ ,” he grumbled, Castiel looking sheepish,

“I apologise, you cursed, I thought you were hurt,” he said quietly, “can I help?” Dean was already pouring the coffee out, and about to tell Castiel he was sorting it, but changed his mind,

“Give Sam this, would you?” he asked, handing Castiel a very under-used mug, almost pristine actually. Castiel accepted the mug with a smile, taking it over to Sam, who thanked him quietly,

“Are you sure he’s a Synthetic?” Sam asked Dean, a smirk on his face as Dean wandered over and sat down,

“Pretty sure yeah,” he mumbled, “his box is in the closet if you wanna see,” and that wasn’t a lie, the crate Castiel had come in was somehow compactable, and was now folded up in the bottom of Dean’s wardrobe, squishy chilled contents somehow flattened.

“That’s actually a relief,” Sam admitted, “Cause if you had a normal roommate, I wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep,”

“Son of a bitch!”


End file.
